Fabula Post Bellum: The Dragon of Morgana's Orchard
by Maverick.Heart
Summary: CHAPTER 4 NOW UP! Change abounds among the Potter brothers and their circle of friends - not the least of which is the new-look Gryffindor Quidditch roster, which must replace nearly half its number with a new captain at the helm. And then there's Lena Urquhart...
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1: Days Long Awaited**

Albus paced the floor of his room, which was clean today, even by his standards. He had always been the neat one out of the three Potter children, with his younger sister Lily opting for a bit of chaos and clutter, and his older brother James usually favoring a total shambles. He had dusted off the Gryffindor lion that hung over his bed, changed the sheets, even cleaned the windowsill – all without his mother's instruction, all without her help…

It was what she would have wanted anyway. Today, the Potters, for the first time in a while, were entertaining guests.

It had been nearly two weeks since the first of the month – Albus had turned twelve that day – and about a week since they had been given the news. Thus, for the last seven days, Albus found himself operating in some undetermined gray area between excitement and nervousness. For the life of him, he couldn't figure out why he was so nervous. After all, it was only a school friend and her parents, right?

Of course, it wasn't often that they had guests. Most of the guests they had were family members – and most of them were over so often that they could no longer be called 'guests', to be completely truthful. Teddy Lupin had been over just last night for dinner. He now came once or twice a week, if that, as opposed to three or four times like he'd done before Albus started school. He'd gotten a job at Quality Quidditch Supplies in Diagon Alley right in time for the summer holiday. He was still living with his gran but planned on striking out on his own as soon as he put together enough Galleons. Of course, James and Albus once again offered to share a room, as it was much closer to London from Ottery St. Catchpole than it was from wherever Teddy was living. Their father, of course, turned them down flat for what had to have been the millionth time.

Rose, on the other hand, was over most weekends. She seemed to enjoy the busy atmosphere of Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes far less than Hugo, who had already implied once or twice that he'd rather simply take up the family business than go to Hogwarts at all. Of course, everyone knew there was no chance of that happening – not with Aunt Hermione for a mother. Hugo might help his father and uncle run the shop eventually, but only after he finished his time at school. As it was, though, he still had another full year, so he tended to spend most of his time at the shop, learning what he could.

Louis, on the other hand, had sent an owl to the Potter House all the way from Shell Cottage, asking Albus what his first year at Hogwarts had been like. He was to board the train with them this fall – and Albus honestly didn't know what to tell him. His first year had been more or less a blur, and it wasn't like Hugo could expect the exact same experience that Albus had. After all, a lot of it had to do with what House one was Sorted into, and Albus wasn't entirely convinced that Louis would join him, James, and Dominique (Louis' older sister) in House Gryffindor.

All in all, though, summer at the Potter House had been peaceful and, frankly, more than a bit boring. Dad still went into work at the Auror Office, and Mum still went into London to hand in columns to the _Daily Prophet_ once or twice a week. Mum still hated to hear Dad's work stories at the dinner table as well, although they did share a rather hearty laugh once about a badly categorized case finding Dad's desk. It was something about toilets jinxed to explode rather than flush once the lever was pulled. Albus supposed that, on one level, a regurgitating toilet simply had more inherent humor than most things; but Mum and Dad seemed to find it especially funny, and Albus couldn't figure out why. Mum also said Grandad Weasley would enjoy the story. Albus didn't know why that was the case, either.

THUMP. THUMP.

"Al-buuuuuuuuuuus~!" a girl's voice sang from outside of his shut door.

"Come in!" Albus replied. The door swung open, and there stood his red-haired, ten-year-old sister, Lily.

"It's almost four," she said, bouncing back and forth on the balls of her feet and looking around. "Is your room clean yet?"

Albus frowned. Lily could be sarcastic when she wanted.

"Is yours?" Albus asked.

Lily folded her arms. Of the three Potter children, Lily was youngest and the only girl. If any of them could be called the spoiled one, it was her.

"Your girlfriend's not coming into _my _room," she said a bit petulantly.

"What are you talking about?" asked Albus. "Sylvia's friends with Rose and I. We're all in the same year."

"But you don't have Rose's birthday card standing up on your desk," Lily said, stepping into the room toward the objects in question.

"Well, Rose gives me one every year," Albus reasoned.

"So this one's _special_, is that it?" she asked, picking up the card. Sylvia had done a rather sloppy job with some charmed glitter. To Albus's complete lack of surprise, Sylvia Thomas had no hidden artistic talent – still, it was the thought that counted. It was his first birthday present from a school friend – or, truthfully, from anyone outside of his own family. So, in that way, it _was_ special.

"Hey, that's _mine_!" Albus snapped, feeling a fresh rush of anger. He made to swipe the card away from her, but Lily danced out of the way, standing in the doorway and grinning impishly before taking off down the hall at a dead sprint. "Lily, wait—…" He sighed heavily. "Merlin's pants."

And he shut his door again.

"Fi, _stop it_!" he heard Lily's voice a few moments later, followed very swiftly by the yowl of a cat. He flopped back onto his bed, hoping that Fiamma didn't claw the card to bits or worse – use it as a litterbox. If Sylvia saw it, she wouldn't be very happy with Albus for being so careless. At the same time, Albus didn't feel much like chasing Lily around the house – let alone Lily's cat. She had grown quite a bit since Albus had been away. The cat, that is. (Although Lily was quickly catching up to Albus's height, much to his chagrin)

Albus wished he knew what Scorpius was doing. Probably holed up in the Malfoy mansion, looking at Quidditch diagrams for next season. Albus supposed Scorpius wasn't allowed to send letters by owl, or he would have done it already. After all, the Malfoys probably had the means. Even though they had fallen on hard times, they were still one of the richest wizarding families in Britain – or at least that's what their reputation and frequent donations to the Ministry said.

A chime rang through the Potter House, only faintly audible through Albus's door – but it might as well have been a small explosion. He jumped to his feet, sprinting halfway down the hall before realizing that his feet were feeling too much of the floor. He couldn't be seen barefoot. He darted back into his room, nearly knocking over his brother.

"Bloody hell, Al," muttered James, and as Albus darted past him a third time, James followed with a slow, languid strut.

Albus was too late to greet them at the door; by the time he'd come down the stairs (he stopped himself from leaping the last few so as not to look completely ridiculous), tall, dark-skinned Dean Thomas, wearing robes that looked uncomfortable for mid-July, was embracing Albus's parents at the doorway.

"Blimey, what a mess," Dean muttered. "You know... maybe I should stick to Apparition. I thought we'd come over by broom, you know, it's a nice day, we weren't in too much of a hurry. Neither, apparently, was the old man on the Cleansweep Seven that nearly ploughed us…"

Harry chuckled.

"Collisions _can _happen during Apparition, you know," remarked Ginny. "Perce had to sort one out… absolute shambles."

"Do I even want to know how this ends?" asked Dean. Harry hastily shook his head, but Ginny kept talking.

"Imagine splinching – you know what splinching is, right? – Except you splinch _into_ someone else's body. So you could have, say, someone else's hand attached –"

Harry made a loud vocalizing groan. "Well, my appetite's gone."

Ginny laughed.

"I get the picture… and it's an awful picture," Dean commented, shuddering.

"No Romilda?" asked Harry. So that was Sylvia's mother's name, Albus thought. He could never remember.

"Under the weather, turns out," said Dean.

"Hmm… that's a fair excuse," said Harry, although there was something in his voice that signaled that he didn't quite buy it.

It was then that a girl wearing a pink dress stepped into the Potter House, looking thoroughly unhappy, her black hair arranged into shiny ringlets that looked like they had come a bit undone. She saw Albus in the corner of the staircase before any of the adults did, and instantly slid behind her father.

"Sylvia, dear, what's wr—" Dean cut himself off after setting his eyes on the staircase. "Oh. Hello, Albus. How long have you been there?"

Moments later, Albus and Sylvia were outside on the meadow. Apparently, the adults had to have some sort of private conversation over their tea. But supper was soon, the heat of the day had broken somewhat, and Albus was bored enough that he didn't protest.

"Ugh… my mum's so…" Sylvia finally said after a while. What, exactly, her mum was, Albus never found out, because she replaced whatever word she would have used with a loud groan of frustration. "I can't believe she made me wear this thing. 'You've got to look smart for your hosts, especially such an important family.' I don't even look 'smart.' I _look _like a bloody eight-year-old that's trying to dress up like a frumpy little princess."

She'd had her hair done for the occasion. It was still very curly, only much less wild. And her pink dress _was _rather frilly. Albus sniggered into his hand. The glare Sylvia shot him was horrifying.

"Don't start," she snarled.

"No… you're right," Albus backpedaled quickly. "It's revolting."

"It is, isn't it?" Sylvia said. For what it was worth, Albus thought she looked pretty; but he didn't dare say so. She looked ready to murder someone. "Thankfully, I planned ahead."

And with that, to Albus's great surprise and horror, she began stripping off the frilly pink dress right then and there. But to his great relief, it turned out she had been concealing a tee shirt and denim shorts the entire time. Albus, wearing jeans when it was quite hot outside, now felt like the one that was overdressed.

"But won't your mum…" Albus uttered nervously.

"I'll tell her I fell off Daddy's broom while we were landing," Sylvia said. "She didn't much like that idea, either, but Daddy wanted us to enjoy the countryside… say, where'd your brother and sister go?"

"James went over to our Gran's," Albus explained. "Lily… I think she's there, too – or somewhere else with the cat."

"You all have a cat?" Sylvia asked, smiling.

"_Lily_ has a cat," Albus corrected her. "I thought I mentioned that."

"Oh," she said. "I always wanted a cat. We can't, though – turns out Mum's allergic. Starts sneezing like mad whenever one gets too close. Hey…"

Her eyes widened and a devious grin appeared on her face.

"Maybe I can rub the dress on the cat when we get back," she suggested. "Mum would probably burn it."

This got a laugh out of Albus. "That sounds like something Lily would do. She can be mischievous when she wants. She actually stole… something of mine earlier today. I've got to get it back if I can ever find out where she put it," he said quickly. He'd almost mentioned that it was Sylvia's birthday card. He wasn't sure how well that would have gone over with her.

They started meandering the meadow and hills between the Potter House and the Burrow (Sylvia expressed her amazement that something so old and rickety-looking could still be standing) rather aimlessly.

"Heard anything from Scorpius?" she asked as they started up the area's highest hill.

"Nothing," said Albus, feeling his disappointment afresh.

"I hear Gryffindor will have a new Quidditch captain this year," Sylvia remarked.

"Well, of course they will," Albus said. "Cole Murphy graduated."

"I wonder who it will be?" Sylvia asked. "Maybe Greta? It's been a while since a girl was Quidditch Captain for Gryffindor."

"Not that long, has it?" Albus asked. Sylvia shrugged her shoulders.

They reached the hill's peak and sat down. From here they could see the distant woods, and even a little bit of the mostly-Muggle village of Ottery St. Catchpole.

"So are you still going to do the announcer thing?" he asked. With a sigh, Sylvia flopped back onto the soft grass.

"I decided not to," she said. "Not this year, anyway. Maybe next year or the year after… when I'm a little older."

"Why?" asked Albus, surprised. "I thought you were… good at it."

Sylvia smiled. "Thanks, Al. I don't know, it's just… I guess I feel a lot different since… you know… since I almost died."

And they had finally reached it – the pink elephant in the room, so to speak.

"But…" Albus uttered, not wishing to hear Sylvia talk with such gravity. "You weren't even hurt."

"Do you think that's normal?" asked Sylvia, her face now serious. "Those were… I was _on fire_, Al."

Albus's jaw dropped. All this time, he'd thought Sylvia had just found some sort of way to avoid the flames.

"The piece of the beam missed me… but the fire caught my robes," she said. "I should've been burned to death… or have some sort of burns _somewhere_, but… nothing."

She stretched out her golden-tan arms and legs. Indeed, no one would be able to tell that Sylvia Thomas had ever been caught in a raging inferno. Yet, at the end of last term, that had been exactly what had happened.

"What if I'm not normal, Al?" she asked, now sounding genuinely worried. "What if I have some sort of… power? Something beyond what's normal for a wizard? Most people don't like me anyway, and…"

"That's because they're stupid," Albus interrupted her, rather fiercely. "They don't really know you."

Sylvia, for once, went silent. That comment hung in the air for a moment.

"You're kind, Al," she said at last. "You've always been."

She sat up, her mane of black hair traveling behind her.

"Six whole weeks until we go back to Hogwarts," she said sadly. "I'm bored of summer already. Aren't you?"

Albus smiled appreciatively.

"We won't be new anymore," she said. "We'll be second years."

"I still barely know my way around the castle," Albus commented.

"I don't think all of the Professors know their way around the castle. It's a big place," Sylvia commented.

Then a voice rang across the fields. "Sylvia! Albus! Time for supper!"

Sylvia started to stand. "I'd better go back and get that dress before Dad finds it. I'll race you!"

Albus smiled. "You're on."

"Ready…" Sylvia said steadily. "Set…"

And then she pounced upon Albus, knocking him to the ground, and took off. Albus gathered himself – "Hey, no fair!" – and pursued her, following her swift feet and ringing laughter across the small meadow.

**James**

"What, does every Muggle _in_ Britain _have_ to take the train on the first of September?" Ginny Potter groaned. She was alone in leading her two sons to King's Cross this time around – Harry had been called on some sort of business and had been forced to say his good-byes earlier that morning as he left for London. James didn't mind. This was his third time, after all. He put up with his mum because he knew she would insist, but he didn't need _both_ of them there. Albus appeared to be fine as well, a bit of extra bounce in his step as he rolled his trolley neck-and-neck with James. "This would be so much simpler without so many of them around – keep hold of those trolleys! We don't need you crashing into anything."

"Got it, Mum," James said, glancing askance at Albus. Why was Albus so excited? Granted, James was happy to be returning as well, but Albus (who was usually the more reserved of the two brothers) was doing a much worse job of hiding it.

At last they arrived at Platform Nine-and-Three-Quarters. James pushed his trolley ahead just in time to see a familiar-looking mane of hair pass through the barrier in a small group. Without even waiting for his mother's word, he darted toward the apparently solid wall, no longer apprehensive of any impact. As soon as the Hogwarts Express came into sight, he temporary abandoned his trolley, turned right, and shouted:

"Murphy! OI!"

Murphy's longish, light brown hair flared out behind him as he whirled around. A smaller, somewhat more petite figure mirrored his action, as well as a tall man (whose hair did not flare out because he did not have enough of it). Richard Murphy, James's best mate since first year, came up to Harry at a jog, followed very closely by a girl James realized at a glance was his sister. James had completely forgotten about her…

"Bloody brilliant!" Murphy shouted as he approached, slapping James on the shoulder. "I had this mad dream last night – you weren't able to get through the barrier and had to make the trip to Hogwarts some other way."

"Like that would ever happen," James laughed.

Murphy set his eyes on the girl, who looked much like him, and said, "James, this is my sister, Anna. Anna, this is James Potter."

Anna's blue eyes widened at hearing the surname 'Potter', as James knew they would.

"So you're the son…"

"James Sirius Potter!" James's heart jolted as he whirled around. Albus was coming toward him along with their mother, who looked unhappy. "Don't run off like that without telling me where you're going!"

"Mum, I'm thirteen," James groused. "I've done this before, I'm not a baby—"

"Holy cricket!" Anna squealed, putting her hands to her mouth. "It's really you! Ginny Potter!"

James looked at Murphy with the same somewhat gobsmacked expression that Ginny was giving Anna. Both mother and son were thinking the same thing. They were used to Harry being recognized and approached like this in public, but it only ever happened to Ginny once in a blue moon, and never with this level of enthusiasm. Nevertheless, Anna jumped out in front of James to shake Ginny's hand.

"My name's Anna Murphy," she said hastily and breathlessly. "I'm a huge fan of yours, Mrs. Potter. I check the _Daily Prophet _every day for your Quidditch articles. Did you get the owl I sent you a few weeks ago asking about your thoughts on the Tornadoes this year? My brother, Cole, plays Keeper for them now."

James tried to keep his face neutral. Cole had been James's Captain last year, and a rather poor one at that. Moreover, it now occurred to James that Anna's outfit consisted rather intentionally of the two shades of blue that comprised the Tutshill Tornadoes colors.

"Cole Murphy? That _does_ sound familiar…" Ginny mused. "Well, I got the letter, certainly… I don't normally answer mail from fans. Then again, most of it's from besotted men that want to ask me out for a lunch date, and either don't know or don't care that I'm a married woman with three children…" She shook her head and laughed. "At any rate, I'm meant to project each team's championship chances in the article I write in a couple of weeks. I'll address it then."

Anna grinned.

Ginny turned to James and Albus. "Well, James, Al… it's 10:48 now. Don't wait too long to get onto the train…"

Her expression changed slightly to one of shock right as James felt himself being nearly tackled to the ground. James had a feeling who it was, and knew for sure once he saw the dark red hair. Brynne Walter detached from him, wearing the warmest of smiles. She put her feet (mercifully still shod for now) to his feet and looked up at him.

"You've grown an inch or two since I saw you last, James…"

Indeed, James was in the middle of a growth spurt that his mother had termed his 'gangling Uncle Ron phase.' They'd had to go to Madam Malkin's to buy him new robes just last week. His old ones, which had fit perfectly last September, were now showing a bit of ankle. In an attempt. At a glance, James noted that Murphy must have grown taller as well. The difference between their heights was about the same as it had been last year.

"And who's this young lady?" Ginny asked curiously. It then occurred to James that his mum and Brynne had never met.

"My name's Brynne Walter," Brynne saved James the trouble by introducing herself. "James is a friend of mine."

"Is that so?" Ginny said. "Well, I'll trust you can help keep him out of trouble this year?"

Brynne grinned, blushing for one reason or another. "I'll try."

Ginny gave a short laugh. "Have a good term, son."

And, with a maddening raise of her eyebrows, she walked away and disappeared into the crowd.

"What was…" James muttered – but the loud clanging of a bell cut him off.

"_Attention all Hogwarts students and staff – it is now 10:55. The Hogwarts Express will be leaving as scheduled in five minutes. Please make your way onto the train as soon as possible."_

"Ah, alright…" James grunted. He caught sight of an auburn-haired girl in the crowd, hit Albus on the shoulder, and quickly said, "Hey, Al – there's Rose."

"C'mon, Anna, let's try to get a compartment," Murphy suggested. Anna nodded and the two ran off toward the train as well.

"So, how was home?" James asked, once the two were out of earshot.

"Home?" repeated Brynne, who looked like she'd had her mind elsewhere. "Oh… home was alright."

"No, I mean…" James lowered his voice. "Did you run into… him?"

"…He didn't come back," Brynne answered.

James's jaw dropped. "What do you mean, he 'didn't come back'?"

"He was a sixth year last year. I'll bet he turned seventeen before term was over," Brynne said. "If that's the case, he could go anywhere he wanted."

"Well, where do you think he went?" asked James as they made their way toward the train.

Brynne folded her arms. "Where do _you_ think he went?"

James contemplated for a moment. "Isn't that against the rules somehow? For a professor and a student to live together if they're not related…"

"I'm not sure there _is_ a rule… but I don't think they would have moved in together," Brynne replied. "Now, maybe someone put him up somewhere for a couple of months. Or maybe he got by traveling and doing odd jobs until it was time to come back. Some wizards that can't or won't get steady work make a living that way… but ironically, a lot of them settle down with us once they get older. The Orchard's got a lot of drifters that come through. Some of them stay. You know… maybe…"

"Hm?" uttered James.

"Maybe he didn't come back to school this year," Brynne said. "He could have decided to strike out on his own. Some wizards don't come back for their last year if they're of age already."

James frowned. "I doubt our luck's that good."

Brynne's hopeful smile faded. "Why do you say that?"

James pointed at another entrance to the train. "Because he's standing right there."

Boarding the train was a youth wearing a dark, collared dress shirt that recalled a vicar. He was tall and thin, and his dark brown hair had lengthened considerably and now sat in a short ponytail at the back of his head.

He was seventh-year Hufflepuff Morris Beal, a favorite student (some would use the word 'protégé') of Professor Malcolm, and, James was now reasonably sure, the most likely culprit for the fire in the Great Hall last year that had nearly killed James, his friends, and his family.

"What are the chances he keeps his head down just long enough to get through his N.E. ?" Brynne asked a bit bracingly. Beal, James could have sworn, shot them a look before entering the train. James grimaced.

"Not a chance in hell," he said.

Brynne let out a sigh, and then skipped through the train's doors, humming her version of the Hogwarts school song to herself.

Once inside, they tried to speed toward a compartment, but bumped into an older, dark-skinned girl.

"…Potter, was it? Cutting it awfully close, aren't you?" she asked. "You'd best find a compartment before this train starts moving in… a minute or so. Sorry – have we met, little girl?"

For Brynne had set one of her _Avada Kedavra-_level death glares on the older girl.

"Laurel Cross," she said with all the venom possible. "And you're a _prefect _this year – splendid. How's your sister doing?"

Laurel tilted her head. "What goes on with my sister is none of your business."

"I happened to like Lilith. She was nice," Brynne said. "She deserved better than what you lot did to her."

"Mind the way you talk to me," Laurel Cross replied, pointing at her two badges. One was the Hufflepuff badger emblem; directly above it was a gleaming silver 'P'. "As you so astutely pointed out, I'm a Hufflepuff Prefect now."

"And you only had to ruin your sister's life to get there," Brynne said. If it weren't for the fact that James felt Laurel Cross deserved everything she was getting from Brynne and then some, James would have stepped in to stop her. In all honesty, Brynne was really frightening him at the moment. He'd hardly ever seen her so angry.

"Strange," Laurel said with a mock airiness. "Even if I _had_ done what you're accusing me of doing, I thought Slytherins valued that kind of ambition..."

"I don't care what House you're in," Brynne answered. "Only monsters sell out their own flesh and blood."

Laurel's nose wrinkled. "I don't approve of what happened, but it might be for the best… I'll thank you to mind your own business, though. That was always Lilith's problem. If she'd just stopped sticking her nose where it didn't belong…"

She shook her head. Was that regret on her face? Whatever it was, Brynne wasn't buying it.

"You make me sick," she said icily. "You were a disgrace to that badge from the moment you put it on."

Laurel smiled a very fragile smile. James saw her hand twitch and float just a bit…

"Whatever you're thinking of doing, don't," he said very quickly. Laurel's eyes widened for a brief second and then narrowed.

"Alright there?" Another girl's voice joined the conversation. "Wotcher, Cross? You're not bothering these two, are you? Head Pair wants all the junior Prefects in our compartment. You'd better get up there."

Laurel shot Brynne in particular a deadly glare before brushing past them.

"James," the remaining girl said with a smile.

James recognized her. "Greta. How was your summer?"

"Too short _and _too long," she sighed. "After those O.W.L.s – I managed six – I could have done without more books and studying for another month, but at least we'll be able to play Quidditch again. I've been named Captain this year, by the way."

"Wicked!" James exclaimed. "Think you'll be able to do both? Be a Quidditch Captain and a Prefect?"

"It's been done before, hasn't it?" asked Greta. "We're about to find out. You two had better find seats. Train's about to start moving."

And she passed them by as well.

"…Were you really ready to duel her?" Brynne asked once Greta was behind a door and out of earshot.

James didn't look at her. He really _had _been ready to take on a school prefect three years his senior to protect Brynne, and hadn't even given it a second thought. "It wouldn't have been much of a duel," he said, trying to distract himself from the sudden heat on his face. "She's got a slow draw. I could have Disarmed her if I needed. I don't think she was going to try anything, though. It's too close in here to start firing curses all over, even if she'd wanted to."

"Oi…" Murphy stuck his head out of a nearby compartment. "Are you two coming in or what?"

Brynne grinned and went first.

James smirked to himself as he settled into a seat. On the train ride home back in June, he'd predicted that Anna would join her brother, James, and Brynne in their compartment today. He'd chosen Care of Magical Creatures and Ancient Runes as extra courses this year… but maybe, thought James, he would have been fair at Divination.

"So you're Murphy's baby sister," commented Brynne.

Anna smiled disapprovingly, if that was at all possible. "Baby? Is that what he's been telling you I am?"

James chuckled. Anna had spirit. She was going to fit right in.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2: Lena, Louis, and Lefty**

Rose winced as their carriage jolted for at least the third time.

"First time in the carriages, and…" she sighed. "I have to say, I much prefer the boats."

"Speak for yourself," Scorpius said. "I'm not a big fan of open water."

"What's the matter?" asked Sylvia, smirking. "Don't you know how to swim?"

"If you have to know… no, I don't," Scorpius replied, looking uncomfortable. Sylvia's smirk faded.

"I was only joking…"

"Never learned. I don't think my dad ever did, either," Scorpius admitted, deflating a bit.

"Well, I suppose you can't be good at everything," Sylvia said. "Rose, don't you _dare –_ if you're gonna be sick, do it over the edge."

For Rose was swaying and looking a bit green. She buried one half of her face in her hand.

"Maybe it's that I'm not used to them yet," she remarked. "From smooth sailing on the Black Lake to these dodgy carriages being pulled by nothing in particular... I guess being a first year had its perks after all."

"I heard a strange thing from Dad," Sylvia remarked. "He said that something's actually pulling these carriages – it's just that only certain people can see it. He also said he hoped I was never one of those people."

"Hmm…" Albus hadn't said a lot during the trip. He was sitting across from Sylvia, who threw him a glance every now and then, but was mostly preoccupied with the view of the trees around him. Their path cut through a corner of the Forbidden Forest, which Albus had never been into – probably for good reason, too. The forest seemed dreadfully intimidating, and Albus could hear cries of creatures he'd never heard before. To make matters worse, traveling by carriage also deprived him of the presence of Hagrid, with whom he would feel much safer. Albus wondered why Hagrid and Professor Gladstone didn't simply switch places. After all, it had been Professor Gladstone that had presided over the Sorting, and she wouldn't have been nearly as intimidating to an incoming first year as Hagrid was. Sure, Hagrid was one of the nicest people you would ever meet, but most students didn't know that. If Albus's family hadn't known Hagrid personally, Albus would have been just another eleven-year-old away from home for the first time, and the first sight to greet him off the train would have been a ten-foot-tall colossus of a half-giant hiding behind a cloud of graying hair.

Albus shook his head, trying hard not to overanalyze all of Hogwarts' inner workings.

They had rounded a corner and a mixture of sounds came from the carriages around them, including a loud cry of "Wow!" from a girl's voice that Albus thought he recognized.

Approaching Hogwarts Castle on land granted them another angle from which to behold its beauty.

They were back.

Entering the Great Hall without having hundreds of eyes trained on you, Albus found, was a huge relief. James and Murphy joined them, and Brynne, much to her disappointment, was caught by one of the Slytherin Prefects and led back to her own table. As much as Professor Flitwick wanted to promote house unity, not to have some semblance of organization during the Start-of-Term Feast would have been terribly confusing for the already nervous first years who were being Sorted.

Sylvia let out a groan as they looked at the empty plates and goblets on their table. "Can they hurry up? I'm hungry."

Chatter among the students created a buzzing drone throughout the Great Hall. Albus watched as Sylvia picked up a fork and started mimicking eating.

"…All right, Al?" she asked, setting her eyes directly on him.

"Oh… oh, yeah…" Albus realized he'd been staring. What was wrong with him today, acting like he'd never seen Sylvia Thomas before? It wasn't as if this wasn't the same witch he had spent most waking hours with, most of last year. Albus looked up and muttered to himself as he attempted to count stars on the Great Hall's enchanted ceiling. _Twenty-two, twenty-three, twenty-four…_

"Good evening, students!" A magically amplified squeak came from nowhere, causing him to jump horribly. Scorpius, who had turned toward the source of the voice, looked back at Albus with a bewildered expression on his face. Albus looked around him to see Professor Flitwick, the Hogwarts Headmaster, standing atop a large platform so as to be seen (he was roughly up to Albus's waist, and that was assuming that Albus hadn't grown at all over the last year.) "Welcome back, to another year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. There are many announcements to be made, and I'm sure many friends with whom you all wish to speak, but before we do that, we must make sure our newest additions are included. So, without further ado, we will proceed with the Sorting. First years – enter!"

The Great Hall doors burst open, and in strode Professor Gladstone, at the head of a group of very young wizards and witches that Albus felt was rather larger than his had been last year. A boy with strawberry blond hair caught his eye and began to wave furiously. "Hi, Albus! Hi, Rose!"

It almost startled Albus. In all the hubbub of trying to get to King's Cross on time that morning, he had completely forgotten that his cousin, Louis Weasley, had been on the train as well and was being Sorted tonight.

"Louis, who's that?" another boy immediately asked him as they passed by. Albus had meant to invite Louis to their compartment so he could be around some familiar faces for the trip. But then again, Louis always made friends much more easily than Albus did.

"They're my cousins," he explained. "And my sister's at this table, too."

Albus heard no more of the conversation as they left his earshot. His attention turned to a young girl at the back of the line. She had short, curly, black hair that looked more in place on someone several years older. She had obviously had it done for this occasion, and it fell in over one of her eyes, which were green. Albus guess that she was probably from a wizard family, given the way that she didn't appear caught off guard by anything that was going on. Even Albus, who was considered a pure-blood (even though one set of his great-grandparents, he knew, were Muggles), had been surprised by the sheer magnitude of everything. But this young girl didn't seem surprised at all. She gazed around, the one green eye of hers that Albus could see darting from wall to wall to take everything in.

That was, until she caught the eyes of Scorpius Malfoy. Her jaw dropped for a moment, and she froze. Another young boy that had been walking bumped into her from behind, which broke her focus. She quickened her pace to catch up with the others.

"Who was that?" asked Albus, tapping Scorpius's shoulder.

"Don't know," Scorpius said, shaking his head.

"Over a thousand years ago," Professor Gladstone went on in her magically amplified voice. "Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was founded by the four best and brightest witches of the age –"

"Godric Gryffindor… Rowena Ravenclaw… Helga Hufflepuff… and Salazar Slytherin," James said along with her, somewhere behind Albus. "Merlin's pants… can she ever come up with a new introduction?"

Richard Murphy sniggered. It then occurred to Albus that Murphy's younger sister was somewhere in that crowd of first years as well. She had managed to keep herself very well hidden.

"—and they decided that an impartial judge, who knew the minds of the incoming students, was best to decide the House into which each new student here at Hogwarts would be placed. The Four Founders combined their magical power, each in equal measure, to create this hat—"

Gladstone produced the old, frayed Sorting Hat and placed it on a stool that had magically appeared on the Great Hall's dais.

"—and thus, the yearly tradition of the Sorting was born."

A mouth opened on the brim of the Hat.

"Bloody hell…" groaned James, lowering his forehead to the table. "It's just gonna sing what Gladstone just said. What's the point of that?"

"Tradition, I guess," Murphy said. "But how often do you meet a singing hat?"

"_But despite this yearly quartering,_

_We are wizards, one and all,_

_And a war between the Houses Four_

_Would ensure our world's fall."_

James picked his head up off the table very quickly as if something on it had burned him. He stared at the hat very intently and then started looking around for someone. Albus had noticed that James had been a very different person over the summer. Usually extroverted and looking to cause a bit of small-scale mayhem, he spent most of his free time shut in his room, or in the air trying to become more familiar with the subtleties of his still-relatively-new broom. Occasionally, he would even ask their mother about strategies. That, at least, made sense. She had been a professional Chaser in her time, after all. Still, it was as if Albus had seen three different James Potters in the last twelve months or so. Usually, it was James that was somewhat chaotic and Albus that had been the well-organized one. This summer, though, it had been more or less the other way around.

The Sorting Hat finished its song to a round of applause that Albus was too distracted to join. Sylvia gave a groan and swore. "I knew I should have gotten some candy off the trolley."

Rose actually laughed a bit – probably because Uncle Ron was a notorious big eater as well as notorious for his use of well-placed oaths.

"ADAMS, ETHAN!"

A red-haired boy that could have passed for a Weasley sat upon the stool, as the hat was placed over his head. It took a while, but –

"GRYFFINDOR!"

The Gryffindor table clapped and the red-haired boy hopped down, grinning.

"ARMSTRONG, CHASE!" Gladstone called next.

The next boy was Black, and wearing short dreadlocks. The slightly nervous glancing he was doing suggested that he may have been Muggle-born and completely unfamiliar with the goings-on here. The way he tried to hide it suggested he was a person for whom the appearance of courage meant everything. The Sorting Hat was fairly quick this time – "HUFFLEPUFF!"

"Aw, sod, I liked that kid," Albus heard Tommy Jordan – who was also Black and _had_ dreadlocks until this summer, when he decided to chop them off – comment.

"BARRETT, MELINDA!"

"WHAT!?" a shout came from nearby at the Gryffindor table. A boy had stood up. His hair was a bit longer and his glasses were gone, but Albus immediately recognized him as his roommate and fellow second year, Rowan Lester. Gladstone froze and tilted her head for a moment, but then decided to go on about her business.

The girl must have recognized Rowan too, because her mouth opened into a comical 'O' right before the Hat settled directly over her eyes.

"Strong personality – _very_ strong," the Hat said. "Obvious what to do with you – GRYFFINDOR!"

Rowan took a step back. Melinda Barrett threw off the hat, still wearing the same shocked expression, and made a beeline for Rowan just as "CORNER, ANGELA" was called to the stool and Sorted to "RAVENCLAW!" with a round of applause. Melinda came to a stop right in front of Rowan, who had assumed the same feigned-looking courage as Chase Armstrong had done moments before. Melinda was shorter than Rowan and a bit stocky but not at all ugly, with flyaway brown hair.

"I'm not afraid of you anymore, Melinda," Rowan said.

"You should be, you git," Melinda said through her teeth. She was trying very hard to look angry and aggressive, but Albus was just close enough to see that her eyes were filling with tears. "You disappeared for a whole year – without even saying goodbye! And then… then the fire happened, and I thought you'd come back home to… but then you didn't, and I thought the State took you. I thought I'd never see you again…"

"I didn't know…" Rowan uttered, looking nonplussed. "I didn't know you cared much."

"…Me, neither," Melinda said, and threw her arms around Rowan, which seemed to shock him more than anything else.

"Who _is _that?" asked Rose. Albus shook his head.

They sat down together. Rowan was still in shock. Albus wasn't even watching the Sorting anymore. This was much more interesting – especially as, the last time Albus had seen Rowan, he was being Apparated off to Merlin-knows-where by a man he had just met, claiming to be his uncle.

"Bloody hell," Rowan muttered. This must have been a big deal – Albus had _never_ heard Rowan say that before. "You're a _witch_. How…?"

"Professor Gladstone says there was probably a… Squib… somewhere in my family tree," explained Melinda, looking down at the table. Then she looked up at Rowan. "Rowan, what's a 'Squib'?"

"A wizard… or at least somebody with wizard parents… but they can't use magic," Rowan said. "I guess they still carry the gene, though, and can pass it down to their children and stuff…"

"You're such a nerd," Melinda interrupted – but it wasn't a serious insult. She was biting her lip and smiling. "Are you… are you any good at this magic stuff?"

"Erm…" Rowan muttered. "I'm fair, I guess."

"Better than me," Melinda said, suddenly looking downcast. "I don't know anything about… anything."

"The Professors here are brilliant," Rowan said. "You'll learn fast enough. And… and I'll help you."

"You… really mean that?" Melinda asked, genuinely surprised. "Even after all those times I bloodied your lip?"

"Well, when you put it that way…" Rowan looked up toward the ceiling. There was a shadow of a smirk on his face. He was joking. Melinda noticed it, too. She laughed.

"Montague, Graham" went to Slytherin after having the hat on his head for all of two seconds. Albus looked up. They were at 'M' already? Someone must have told the Sorting Hat to quicken its pace a bit. Either that, or the new students were making its decisions extremely easy…

"MURPHY, ANNA!" Gladstone called.

Albus turned very quickly toward Richard Murphy. In fact, most of his friends were looking at Richard, who was staring straight up at the dais, watching his sister take the Sorting Hat. The Hat sat silently atop her head for fifteen seconds… thirty seconds… and then it handed down its decision. "HUFFLEPUFF!"

The Hufflepuff table reacted politely, as they always did to newcomers. But James stared disapprovingly as Anna Murphy was welcomed to her table and had her hand shook by the new Hufflepuff girls' Prefect, Laurel Cross.

"Nicks, Cordell" and "North, Candice" both became Ravenclaws, "O'Leary, Titus" came to Gryffindor ("Hey, I know that bloke!" exclaimed Richard Murphy enthusiastically), "Oswald, Nathan" went to Hufflepuff, and "Pike, Coraline", whom Albus supposed to be a relative of Isaac's, went to Gryffindor. "Powell, Nancy" became a Ravenclaw, while "Purcell, Blake" went to Slytherin. As they got to the R's, Albus noticed Scorpius starting to doze off.

"URQUHART, MERLENA!" Gladstone shouted to the shrinking line of first years. The girl with short, curly, black hair took the seat.

"Oi, Scorpius. Wake up," Albus gently tapped Scorpius on the shoulder. "There's your friend."

Scorpius gave Albus an askance look, but nevertheless watched as the mystery girl was sorted. It did not take long – "SLYTHERIN!"

Merlena's face fell for a brief second – had she been expecting something different? – but then she jumped off the dais and went straight for Scorpius ahead. This time, what little manners Scorpius had failed him.

"Who are you?" he asked nervously. Merlena reached into her robes and pulled out what looked like a piece of parchment that had been folded several times over. Albus noticed that Scorpius twitched horribly. He heard an involuntary gasp escape him. If Merlena had tried that a year ago, Scorpius might have tried to hex her in response…

"You're Scorpius Malfoy, right?" asked the girl. "Your mum's name is Astoria?"

"Y-yes," Scorpius stammered. "But how do you know—"

"Take this," she said breathlessly, placing the parchment into Scorpius's hand. "We'll talk later."

"Oi," one of the Slytherin prefects stood up. "Urquhart. Slytherin table's over here."

"Coming," she sang, walking away and giving Scorpius one final grin before leaving.

"WEASLEY, LOUIS!"

Albus did not have time to join Scorpius in his confusion. He and Rose both looked up at the dais, where Louis Weasley was sitting upon the stool. He caught Albus's eye and shot him a look that said very clearly, _We'll see._ The hat began to speak aloud. "_Another_ Weasley? For Merlin's sake, lad, how many of you _are_ there now?"

"Enough for you to ask," Louis replied, wearing an off-center grin. Up at the staff table, Neville – Professor Longbottom, that is – had buried his face into the table, and Arbiter Thomas, Sylvia's father, was clearly laughing.

"Think you're clever, do you?" asked the Hat. Albus couldn't tell if it was amused or annoyed. "Very well – RAVENCLAW!"

"_Ah, merde,_" came a disappointed groan that Albus was sure was Dominique, and Rose pouted, but Louis didn't seem to be bothered much. He grinned, handed the hat back to a smiling Professor Gladstone, and leapt down from the dais. By the time "Williams, Katarina" was taking her seat on the stool, Louis was already at the table, introducing himself to Cordell Nicks and the other first year Ravenclaws.

And finally, after that, the Sorting was over, the food appeared, and they were allowed to tuck in, which Sylvia did with gusto. Albus, who had been placing roast beef onto his own plate, noticed Scorpius not eating. He'd been staring intently at the parchment the new Slytherin girl had given him.

"Well, go on, open it!" Sylvia said enthusiastically. "It might be a love letter or something."

"Wh-what?" Rose stammered. "They've never met before, have they? Careful, Scorpius, it could be cursed…"

"Honestly, Rose, you're such a mother hen…" Sylvia started, but Scorpius cut her off.

"Actually… I'm with Rose," he said, still staring at the unopened parchment with suspicion.

"I think you should open it," Albus said. Scorpius and Rose both looked at him, equally shocked. "I mean… Slytherins are cunning, right? She wouldn't be thick enough to give you a cursed letter in full view of everybody."

Scorpius seemed to consider Albus's point for a moment. Then he opened the letter, ignoring Rose's sharp intake of breath. He stared at it for a moment. Then his jaw dropped and his gray eyes widened. He pushed himself up to his feet.

Albus, unable to help himself, slid the parchment toward himself. It bore several rectangles and lines, and looked to be hand-drawn. At the top of the parchment were several sets of names. Albus read them across in his head.

_Lucius Malfoy… Narcissa Black_… those were Scorpius's grandparents on his father's side… their names were connected by a line, and an arrow pointed downward from the line to the name of Draco Malfoy.

_Owen Greengrass… Diantha Travers… _The line between them branched off and downward to the name of Astoria Greengrass – and the line between Draco Malfoy and Astoria branched downward to Scorpius.

But Owen Greengrass and Diantha Travers had a second line branching off from their own. The name under it was Daphne Greengrass, who must have married a man named Marcel Urquhart…

Under this pair, along with the printed name Titania Urquhart, who must have been her sister, the Slytherin girl had signed her own name in flowery script. Evidently, she went by simply "Lena"…

But more importantly, if this crude family tree was correct, she and Scorpius were cousins.

**James**

The Gryffindor welcome party never got old, and it was very nearly midnight when James and the other Gryffindor third years arrived at their dormitories – without Murphy, who had apparently snuck off or been called to Hufflepuff's common room to see his sister off. Without him there and without any relatives to welcome into the House, it was a bit less enjoyable than it would have been. Much to James's chagrin, Murphy had been completely right about Madison Peakes, who apparently _still_ hadn't forgiven Murphy for abandoning her at the Valentine's Day Social last year. Roxanne was slightly disappointed – this was her fifth year and she had been hoping to join Tommy Jordan as a Gryffindor Prefect. Apparently, though, the powers that be had decided that she and Laurel Cross (or, as Roxanne so affectionately termed her, "That sycophantic Hufflepuff cow") could not coexist as Prefects without one wanting to hex the other. James wasn't quite sure what 'sycophantic' meant, but as it was referring to Laurel Cross, it probably wasn't anything pleasant. Freddy, for his part, was completely over Laurel, but Roxanne's grudge had evidently carried through the summer. Dominique Weasley floated around Tommy, Freddy, and Roxanne, as she often did. James thought she'd be seeing her little brother off to Ravenclaw Tower. When he asked her about it, her curt response was, "He doesn't need me."

Isaac Pike was in a particularly festive mood. The Coraline Pike that had been sorted into Gryffindor a few hours earlier was his younger sister, as it turned out. Maybe it was her nerves, but Coraline seemed much more reserved than her brother. She had made fast friends with Diana Daugherty, one of the other Gryffindor first year girls. The paranoid extremist part of James's brain thought very briefly of hexing Alphonse Gold, a first year boy who mentioned his desire to be a star Chaser. "I heard a first year made the team at Seeker last year, and everyone _says_ that's the hardest position on the pitch," Gold said.

But honestly, what chance did Gold have of threatening his spot on the team? James was two years older and had played well last year when he'd gotten the chance. He probably had the inside track on the Chaser's spot left open by Gaspar Mitchell, who had graduated – and, last James heard, had been suspended from the Kenmare Kestrels for deliberately colliding with an arbiter. That bloke really needed to learn to control his temper…

He threw a polite hello Gemma Bridge's way when she spoke to him, and that was right about the time James decided it was probably a good time to go to bed. Gemma Bridge _never_ spoke to him outside of class, which was a sure sign that people at the party were starting to get bored.

To his surprise, he was the last to enter the dormitory – other than Murphy, who had not yet returned to Gryffindor Tower. Cecil Brookstanton, Dathan Rama, and Martin Croyle (James patted himself on the back for remembering this time) were waiting for him, and apparently there had been some confusion as to when one of Dathan's several siblings was being sorted.

"I thought Dinesh was coming this year," Cecil said. "What happened to him?"

"What?" uttered Dathan. "Have they started allowing eight-year-olds into Hogwarts now?"

"Eight?" Cecil repeated. "Dinesh isn't next oldest?"

Dathan shook his head. "Dinesh is youngest. Parveen's ten. She's coming next year."

"I thought Parveen was the one that got sorted last year," Cecil said. "Into Ravenclaw?"

Dathan gave a loud groan. "No, that was Madhari."

"Well… oh, for Merlin's sake, it gets all confusing…" Cecil grunted, waving Dathan off dismissively.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Dathan asked, an edge in his voice.

"It means what I said," Cecil answered. "I can't remember all your siblings' names and what bloody order they're in."

And at this point James decided to walk to his bed, right between them. (Not that he had much choice with the way the room was arranged.) "Anyone seen Murph yet?"

"Not since the feast," Cecil said. "I thought he was with _you_. You know that Beater of yours? McLaggen?"

"What about him?" James hadn't seen much of Desmond McLaggen during the party, which was just fine with him.

"I'd like to give him a swift boot to the cods," Cecil said matter-of-factly. "He talks too much."

James raised his eyebrows wordlessly. He could have made a comment about the irony of this statement coming from Cecil, but chose to refrain.

"So, Potter…" Cecil _went on_ talking. "Whatever happened to that Slytherin girlfriend of yours?"

"What Slytherin girlfriend?" James answered.

"You're wasting your time, mate," Murphy's voice joined the conversation as he entered the room. "Trust me, I've been trying to get him to admit he fancies her for almost a year."

James responded to Murphy's wisecrack with his hand instead of his mouth.

"Thanks a lot, mate," Murphy laughed at James's rude gesture, jumping onto his four-poster and lying back. "Merlin's beard, I missed this bed. "So how'd you lads get on this summer, huh?"

James winced. It was a perfect opportunity for Cecil to start talking again. After a while, though, even he became bored, and it was not long before both he and Dathan were sound asleep.

"…So, how's Anna?" James asked.

"Not happy," Murphy said somberly. "She was really hoping she'd be in Gryffindor like Cole and me… I told her Hufflepuff wasn't all that bad, that the people there were nice…"

"With a straight face, you mean?" asked James.

Murphy looked at James askance. "Come on, mate. Malcolm's an arse, Laurel Cross is a cow, Morris Beal may or may not be a psychopath… but the lot of them? Not really that bad, are they?"

"…Depends on how many of them are part of Malcolm's little fan club," James answered cynically.

Murphy sighed. "J.P., mate… listen. You might be right about Malcolm. Whatever happens, though… leave Anna out of it."

"Anna will be fine," James said. "Malcolm isn't nearly as foul to girls… or to Hufflepuffs, for that matter."

"I'm not messing around, James," Murphy reiterated. "I don't have to tell you what would happen if it came down to you or my sister."

"You don't have to threaten me," James said, bristling a bit. "I get it, alright? But you should at least warn her not to get on Beal or Laurel Cross' bad side."

"For what it's worth, Laurel seemed perfectly polite to her. If I didn't know what we do, I'd almost think she wasn't a bad Prefect," Murphy sighed. "Word is, third years have Defence first thing in the morning after breakfast," he said.

"Brilliant… I've got to deal with him when I'm barely awake at all," James groaned. "Might as well sleep, then… I don't want to think about what he'd try to do to me if I showed up late."

But even after Murphy changed into his pyjamas and curled up into his bed, James sat awake. Who – what – was Morris Beal? Was he an attack dog for Malcolm? Or was he more like the kind of dog Malcolm had to try to restrain? And where, if anywhere, did Gladstone fit in? Was she going to become a problem?

Was Malcolm even the real villain?

_Don't be daft, James, of course he is, _James thought to himself. Then, his thoughts meshed and muddied into dreams.

Someone had tied him up by his wrists. The air was warm and comfortable. It would have been a nice place to nap – except that someone had tied him up by his wrists. It took a minute before he realized that he was strung up on one of the hoops of the Quidditch pitch. Desmond McLaggen was on his broom, Beater's bat in hand…

The scene around him melted. The world outside was a blindingly bright white, clinging to the trees and to the grass… the Black Lake was more like silver, and frozen over. It must have been the dead of winter. He was out of breath, chasing someone. He could see the trail of red hair and had almost caught up when he lurched horribly. He crashed into her and the two hit the ground. She was a good sport about it, though. She laughed, in fact, and hovered over him for a moment. Then she disappeared under a whirl of fur and a storm of growling. She screamed horribly and then stopped moving. Meanwhile, a great dog with a spiked collar emerged from the short melee, its muzzle pink with a mesh of snow and blood. With one last growl, it bounded away. James watched it as it came to a stop at the feet of a man. He made to pursue, but then heard a cough…

"J-ja—"

_Brynne!_ James jolted and turned his attention back to the girl lying in the snow. She was not moving. She was also not Brynne.

She was Lily.

"NO!"

James sat bolt upright, flailing horribly. It was morning and he'd upset the blankets of his four-poster bed.

"What's wrong with you?" asked Cecil's voice.

James groaned and fell back to his pillow, hiding his eyes in the crook of his arm for a moment. When he removed his arm, he was surprised to feel that the inside of his elbow was damp.

"Alright, mate?" Murphy asked. Dathan and Cecil were now gone.

James muttered to himself, jumping out of bed to look for his clothes. He pointed his wand at his trunk and it burst open, scattering his things everywhere. James rummaged through the clothes until he found a shirt bearing the words 'REAL MEN LOVE HARPIES' and pulled it over himself.

"Holyhead?" asked Murphy with a nervous chuckle.

James tried to calm himself. _Don't go around the twist, you prat, it was only a dream…_ "Yeah," he said, even feigning a smile.

He didn't look at Murphy until he'd dressed all the way to his robes, but when he finally did, his best mate was staring back at him with a frown.

"Bad dream?" he asked.

James waved his hand. "It's nothing. We're not too late, are we?"

Murphy stretched his hand and wrist out of his robe to look at a watch. "Not yet."

James sighed heavily. "Good. Let's go get some breakfast."

When Murphy and James reached the Great Hall, Brynne was there, swirling a finger above what looked suspiciously like coffee. James wondered why she was doing this for a moment until he saw the spoon, stirring her drink on its own without Brynne's physical aid.

"Where'd you learn to do that?" asked James as he and Murphy sat down.

"It's a basic bit of magic, really," replied Brynne. "My auntie does it all the time, and I just figured it out over the summer."

"Why are you drinking coffee?" asked Murphy, and James knew he and Murphy were probably thinking the same thing; Brynne Walter was high-strung and erratic enough without the aid of the sudden jolt that coffee often brought.

"I need something to get me started," Brynne said. It was just then that James noticed the bags under her eyes – an uncommon sight. "I didn't sleep that well last night."

"You, either?" muttered James. Brynne looked up for a moment. James looked away. "Erm… why not?"

"Because…" Brynne started, and then she stopped. "It was just difficult, alright? Maybe it's because it's my first day away from home again."

James frowned and thought very hard before asking the next question. He dropped his voice to a whisper. "It's not Amara and Marsha again, is it? Are they bothering you?"

At this, Brynne smiled a tired smile. "Of course not. They both know better. Besides, they're too busy fighting each other. The Prefects had to stop them from brawling in the common room last night."

Murphy sniggered and then elbowed James. "Sounds like you and Cecil, mate."

James looked at Murphy askance. "I don't need to do anything to Cecil. His mouth is going to get him in trouble sooner or later."

"Oi," James didn't have to turn to realize it was Tommy that was now hovering over them. James looked up and over his head. Tommy looked strange without his long dreadlocks. It was almost as if he had come back to Hogwarts missing a limb. It took James a moment to mull over exactly _what_ Tommy was handing them this early in the morning. Murphy had no such hesitation. He opened his parchment, pored over it for a second… and then let loose with a string of swears and oaths that nearly made Uncle Ron sound prudish by comparison.

"_Language_, Murphy," Tommy warned. "What's got your wand in a knot anyway?"

"Yep. Defence – _double_ Defence. Still with bloody Hufflepuff," groaned Murphy, tossing the schedule away in frustration and casting a dark glance at James.

"Is it going to make a difference which House we're with now?" asked James, opening his own parchment. Only, something was wrong with his. "Malcolm is Malc—wait a second…"

He peered at Murphy's schedule and then back at his own. Then he looked at Tommy. "Something's gone wrong. I don't have Defence on my schedule, Tommy."

"That's the other thing," Tommy said. "The Headmaster wants you in his office in twenty minutes. Good morning."

And he walked away.

"I haven't done anything," James said weakly.

"I wonder if they're still on about last year?" Murphy asked, a bit ominously. "Personally, I wouldn't put it past Malcolm to try to convince Flitwick to give you detention every day until Christmas."

"_Not helping_, mate," James replied tersely, burying his face in his hand. "Bloody hell. Well, I guess I'll see you in… what's after Defence on _your _schedule?"

"Charms," replied Murphy.

James investigated his own schedule. "Well, _that's_ the same, at least… although that'll be no fun, either." He figured Gladstone would be much cooler towards him after the incidents with Malcolm last year. "I may just say I got hung up at the Headmaster's and wasn't able to make it."

"Because she'll be a lot less tweaked if you skive off your first Charms class of the term," Murphy sarcastically said, by way of pointing out that this wasn't the best idea. James groaned.

"I guess you're right," he answered. "I'll see you at Charms, then."

He stood up, feeling a pang as his empty stomach had received no food. But there were urgent matters at hand – like how, exactly, he was meant to finish his Hogwarts education without Defence Against the Dark Arts on his schedule.

He made his way up to the Headmaster's office, his sense of dread increasing with every step he took. After all, it had only been three months, if that, since he had sat in the same office, with the Headmaster and the Head of each of the four houses looking down on him and discussing whether or not he should be expelled. The further removed he'd been from the incident, the more indignant James had become. After all, his actions had probably saved a large number of students and staff. Categorically, that made James a hero.

But James's father had some experience as a hero, and he was the first one to tell James that it sounded much better in theory than it is in practice. _"Once they think you're the solution to their problems, they'll never stop thinking it,"_ his father had told him. _"Sometimes doing good and having no one know you did it can be the best thing that can happen to you."_

James still wasn't sure he bought it, though. He would have liked everyone to see, at least, that he had the good of Hogwarts, his friends, and his family in mind instead of just being seen as the spoiled, pampered son of a wizarding hero who had a vendetta against the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. Although, anyone who sat in one of their classes would know that James couldn't possibly have hated Professor Malcolm more than Professor Malcolm hated James. A lot of the public rows they did get into were the result of Malcolm baiting him with some sort of snide comment or remark. James knew that adults liked to throw their weight around, and that being older often made them right by default in any argument. But there had to be a line – and if there was indeed a line, then Malcolm had certainly crossed it time and time again. Even if James had no sense that Professor Malcolm was doing anything illicit, they still wouldn't have seen eye to eye. Malcolm was a bully. And James hated bullies.

"I hope you don't stroll to your classes that casually when you're already late," an admonishing voice that sounded a lot like his father rang in his head. James looked up. His jaw dropped.

"Wha—_Dad?_" he uttered. "Wh-what are you doing here?"

Harry Potter smiled.

"It's a long story. Train ride go alright?"

"Fine," said James, thankful that his father hadn't asked him about his first night – and forced him to lie. After all, how could he explain to his father that he'd had a nightmare about Lily being brutally murdered by a rabid dog?

He shivered.

"You alright, James?" asked Harry, sounding concerned. "You look pale."

He had to try to convince his father that absolutely nothing was wrong.

"I'm just fine, _Mum_," he quipped. Harry laughed heartily at this and slapped his son's shoulder.

"Sure you are," he said, turning toward the stone gargoyle that blocked the staircase up to Professor Flitwick's office. "_Pocket frog!_"

James sniggered.

"Professor Flitwick's passwords are almost as eccentric as Dumbledore's were." Harry chuckled as the gargoyle in front of the staircase leapt aside to allow them to pass. "I wonder if Neville suggested that one? He had a pocket frog when we were boys. Don't bring it up around him, though."

James could barely control his laughter as he followed his father up the staircase. His sense of dread had lessened slightly. After all, his father wouldn't be cracking jokes if something horrible were about to happen with James, would he?

From what his father had told him by comparison, the office of Professor Flitwick was much more austere than that of his predecessors. What few trinkets he had (compared to what must have been hundreds for Dumbledore) stopped at about James's waist level, probably owing in no small part to Flitwick's short stature. No one really ever asked him directly, but most supposed that Flitwick had some non-human ancestry, maybe goblin or some type of elf. James had seen goblins at Gringotts. Flitwick was just a bit taller than them, but quite a bit shorter than a fully grown man like James's father, Harry. Although, to be fair, Harry was rather taller than most men and had passed that down to James, who at thirteen was already nearing Harry's shoulder height. _Humans and goblins…_ James was just about to start to torment his own brain with the logistical (and, yes, even the physical) particulars of how and why a coupling like that would or could happen when the appearance of Filius Flitwick himself mercifully distracted him from that train of thought.

"Mister… or should I say Misters… Potter," Filius Flitwick said, peering over his desk, which was still sized for a human's full height. A rather tall wizards' hat sat atop his scalp, which James knew to be pockmarked and bald. From the sides of his head came very wispy, white hair, a bit like candyfloss. Flitwick was fair, kind, and as learned as any wizard you would find anywhere. _Which would follow_, James thought. _He must be very nearly a hundred if not older._ That was all one could ask for in a peacetime Headmaster of Hogwarts. "I expected you five minutes ago."

James grimaced, seating himself. "Sorry, Headmaster. I just got the message to come up here about twenty minutes ago. I thought I'd be going to my first class."

Flitwick sighed and regarded James with a kind expression. "Fair enough. Now, I imagine you received your schedule from a Prefect this morning and saw something that concerned you?"

So Flitwick knew. James couldn't yet figure out whether that was a good or a bad thing. "Yes, sir. I noticed that the block where I'd normally have Defence Against the Dark Arts… now, actually… was left open. There's no class there on my schedule. I thought every student had to take that one – and especially me. I want to be an Auror one day, so I'll need a N.E.W.T. in the subject, right?"

"That you will," Flitwick said. "There's been… an exception made in your case, Mr. Potter. Perhaps your father would best explain it to you?"

James looked up at his father.

"That's why I'm here, I suppose," Harry said. "James…"

"Let me guess… Malcolm refused to teach me?" James asked.

Harry sighed. "_Professor_ Malcolm, James, and I shouldn't think so. He's bound by honor and duty to teach any student that sets foot here in Hogwarts, up to Ordinary Wizarding Level at the very least." James remembered Malcolm saying something to that effect last year. "This wasn't even a Hogwarts decision, in fact. It was mine."

James, for once, stayed silent and listened.

"I've told you once before that I don't want Professor Malcolm sacked," said Harry. "The school can ill afford it. Professor Malcolm is still very young, and I fully expect him to teach Defence Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts for the next thirty years, at least. Professor Flitwick here can tell you that when I was a student here, the post was… unstable. There were seven different professors here for my school years, and out of those seven, two were good men, one was completely inept, three were tools of Voldemort himself, and the last one was even worse. All seven are either dead, in Azkaban, or at St. Mungo's Hospital with permanent… injuries."

Harry's brows joined together at the word 'injuries.'

"So… why not let Professor Malcolm teach me?" asked James. "I've put up with him for two years already. You could almost say I'm an expert at it. He'll have a lot harder time getting a rise out of me than he did last year."

"But the fact that he tries at all – or does it because he can't help himself – is a problem," Harry said. "And, frankly, after the end of last year, things have reached a point where I don't believe you could learn as effectively from him as you could from… someone else. So, I've decided – in the face of Hogwarts tradition, I might add – to place your Defence education in the hands of a capable private tutor."

James's eyes lit up. "So _you're_ going to be teaching me my Defence lessons?"

Harry chuckled. "That would certainly be easiest. But I've still got Auror business to take care of, and I'm pants at teaching a school curriculum. But the wizard I picked is _more _than able to get you through your exams. It took until yesterday for me to convince him – he's not sure about teaching an underage wizard – but he finally came around."

There was movement somewhere behind James – at the staircase, he guessed.

"Sir, we're in here!" Harry called.

Whoever was approaching had a brisk but slightly gimpy walk.

"When I started with the Aurors about twenty years ago," Harry said over the man's footsteps, "I had nothing but the raw instincts I had been forced to rely upon just to stay alive. This man took that, and over the next few years, taught me to become a professional at what I did."

"You talk too much, Potter," a growl of a voice said. A moment later, its bearer emerged around a corner and into view. James's jaw dropped. "I wasn't your only teacher, and I sure as hell wasn't the best."

James stood.

"Whoa," he whispered reverently. "You're… you've gotta be… Lefty Dawlish."

"That's _John_ Dawlish, boy – or Mr. Dawlish to you," the old man grunted. He was bowed slightly, and the one arm he had – his left – was rummaging around in a pocket. He withdrew a small bottle, bit off the cork top, and downed the vial's contents in one. "I'm not sure what you know about being an Auror. People think it's glamorous, and maybe it is in peacetime – if there is such a thing. How old are you, boy?"

"Thirteen," James answered, suddenly feeling like about half that age in Dawlish's presence.

"Thirteen years old and you want to be an Auror like Daddy, eh? I would advise against it," Dawlish said. A nasty smile (both in disposition and in the fact that he was missing several teeth) crossed his face. "In twenty years, you might look like your father. In about fifty, you might look more like me, and that's if you're lucky enough to live that long. But I suppose it's not my job to guide your career, is it? My job is to teach you what you need to know in order to pass your examinations."

James nodded a bit dimly, still hardly daring to believe it. This was the best he could have hoped for. Not only was he free of Malcolm, but he was going to learn Defence from a _legend_… John Dawlish had led the post-war scouring right after Lord Voldemort's death. So effective was his work, that to this day there was said to be not a single Death Eater alive and free that was not allowed to be so. He'd probably been in more fights than any wizard or witch in all of Britain. His biography could have been the text for the Defence course. James couldn't even begin to imagine how many things Dawlish could teach him about Defence and about combat without even trying. "So, are we starting today?"

"Today? Merlin's beard, no," grunted Dawlish. "Truth be told, I haven't so much as looked at the text for your class."

"But…" James uttered. "With all due respect, sir… you don't need a text. You're… well, _you_. Why don't you just teach me everything you know?"

"Because no thirteen-year-old is ready to hear everything I know," Dawlish said firmly. "But, I can sense your eagerness to learn, especially where Defence Against the Dark Arts is concerned. Let us focus on revising for your examinations first. If, and only if, you can handle that…"

He stopped mid-sentence to close his eyes for a moment. And then they opened again.

"We shall see if I have anything else to offer you," he finished. "Now, if you'll excuse me. I was awoken much, _much_ earlier than I'm used to getting out of bed. An old man needs his rest. We'll be in touch, Potter."

Dawlish was leaving, and James couldn't figure out whether Dawlish was talking to him or his father.

Harry nodded toward James, who gestured toward Professor Flitwick and followed his father out of the office in silence.

"You're going to be tempted, I know, so let's just get this out of the way," Harry said seriously. "_Don't_ ask Mr. Dawlish about his time as an Auror. He may volunteer some information, and he may not. But it's not a part of his life he remembers with any fondness."

James grimaced with disappointment, although he wasn't entirely surprised. "All right."

"And whatever you do, for _Merlin's sake_, do _not_ call him 'Lefty' again," Harry said, almost pleadingly. With a shudder, he added, "I can't begin to tell you how much he hates that nickname."

James didn't get it. "Why, though? That's not a mean feat, to learn how to duel and write with your other arm after your wand arm gets chopped off…"

"I'm serious, James. Don't bring it up," Harry warned. "He was in a good mood today, especially seeing as he woke up at seven this morning to get here from Hogsmeade. But he can be very irritable. You remember what I told you a while back about Alastor Moody?"

James thought for a moment. "Yes."

"Dawlish is much like Moody was – well, no, not really. Moody was paranoid, thinking he had enemies around every corner. Dawlish knows he's done away with every enemy he had, but now he's not sure what he's meant to do with himself in his old age," Harry said.

"The way you talk, it makes him sound a bit mad," James said seriously.

"Most people would go mad after seeing the things he's seen," Harry said.

"Most people would go mad after seeing the things _you've _seen," James replied.

Harry stopped dead in his tracks.

"Your mum tells me that all the time," he said. "And she's absolutely right."

"So… how did you stop yourself going mad, then?" James asked, finally catching up. He felt slightly embarrassed, but did not resist, when his father placed a hand atop his head.

"You," he said, "and Albus, and Lily. And before you lot came along, it was your mum… and your Uncle Ron and your Aunt Hermione, and your gran, and Teddy, and so many others… James, when you're loved, and you love other people, you'll be surprised what that love can help you stand up to. It's a kind of magic infinitely more powerful than anything you could ever learn here. Never forget that."

James nodded indulgently. It was probably one of those strange things he would understand when he got to be his father's age, he thought. He didn't get it so much now.

"And one more thing," Harry said as they emerged into the hallway. "I was in my study earlier this morning, and I happened to notice that something was missing…"

James stopped – and he could have sworn that his heart did, too, for a second. But Harry smiled.

"It's yours to keep," he said. "Even with your constant spats with Professor Malcolm, you've made far less of a mockery of the Hogwarts rulebook than I'd done by the time I was your age. I think you can handle it… and to be fair, I would have never gotten it if your uncles hadn't nicked it first."

"Uh… thanks," James muttered, still not sure whether his father was upset at him and simply hiding it very well.

"But if I'm going to pass it down to you," Harry said firmly, "you're going to need to know how to use it."


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3: Hearts and Clubs**

"C'mon, Scorpius. Hurry up," Albus said to Scorpius's drawn curtains for what felt like the tenth time that morning. A full week had passed since their arrival on the Hogwarts Express. Most of it consisted of Albus and the others realizing just how much they had forgotten over the summer holidays. Some of the less merciful professors – Binns, for instance – even decided to give short examinations on the things they had forgotten over the summer holidays. Most people did so badly on them that Albus was fully convinced that Binns would throw out the marks entirely. That didn't happen, owing in no small part due to the efforts of both Rose and Rowan Lester, who both scored very close to full marks on the test. At least Binns was so pleased by that achievement (or as pleased as a dry, humorless, curmudgeonly ghost professor ever got) that he decided to award each of them twenty points, giving Gryffindor an early leg up in the race for the House Cup. On the other side of that, everyone's grade now counted, which admittedly wasn't the end of the world. After all, Professor Binns gave some sort of examination almost weekly, so there were a lot of chances to make up ground.

This year, Defence Against the Dark Arts and Transfiguration were both with Ravenclaw, which meant that Albus got to see a lot of Iris Conrad. On all occasions that week, she looked more miserable than Albus had ever seen her, and it took having Herbology class with Hufflepuff to find out why. Lilith Cross, who was her best friend if she had one, had not come back to Hogwarts. Albus was flummoxed by this; he knew that not every wizard child in Britain attended Hogwarts. Some – usually the very rich and the very poor as a rule of thumb – were trained at home. However, situations where someone started at Hogwarts and simply stopped attending before they were of age were few and far between. Even more perplexing was the fact that he had seen Lilith's sister, Laurel, who was now a Hufflepuff Prefect.

Also, that week, Scorpius had tried to get to the bottom of what he had begun calling his 'family issue'. Mainly, this meant that he'd spent a long time compiling a letter to send to his parents by owl – a letter that he scrapped at least twice, calling the first version 'too whiny' and the second 'too angry'. It was obvious that Scorpius was bothered by the possibility that his parents had literally hidden the existence of other family members from him for all this time, and the more Albus thought about it, the more he could understand. Scorpius, after all, had endured a very lonely upbringing, and had enjoyed nearly no contact at all with other witches and wizards his own age until he arrived at Hogwarts last year. Knowing that there was another member of his family around his own age with whom he could have established some sort of bond… well, Albus imagined that Scorpius would be a much different person if he had been allowed that. And Scorpius, who was already much too self-conscious to be healthy for a twelve-year-old wizard, certainly knew that, too. It was finally on Wednesday that Sylvia told Scorpius to stop being so ridiculous, and to simply write what he was feeling and send it. Of course, she said it in a way that only Sylvia Thomas could – the kind of way that let you know that taking her idea of a risk was potentially far less dangerous than refusing it. So, needless to say, Scorpius sent the letter off by Hogwarts owl Wednesday. It returned on Friday morning with what Albus felt was a rather terse reply from a mother to a son. At the same time, it told Scorpius all he needed to know:

"_Your aunt and I don't speak. Do as you like." – Mum_

Coincidentally, Lena Urquhart had sent a message up to Scorpius at Gryffindor Tower (perhaps by one of the elves, some of whom could apparently be convinced to do this by an extra few Knuts) expressing her wish to meet with him for breakfast on Saturday morning. Except Scorpius still wasn't entirely convinced, and he hated being alone with strangers if he could help it. So, naturally, Albus, Rose, and Sylvia agreed to accompany him. None of them were sure how Lena would take that, but she would have to deal with it, at least for the time being.

Now that the day had come, however, Scorpius was showing signs of backing out.

"What's going on with him?" asked Rowan, who was the only other one in the room. Desmond McLaggen and Stephan Vaisey had left early – apparently to eat with the twin Mack brothers from Hufflepuff.

"His cousin's here at Hogwarts," Albus explained as succinctly as he could. "But since their parents don't talk, he's just now meeting her for the first time. He's… well, afraid–"

And the curtains to Scorpius's four-poster bed flew open. "I'm _not _afraid!" he exclaimed, looking at the other two boys desperately. "I just – what do you say to a family member you've never seen before?"

Albus wasn't sure if it was intentional, but when Scorpius's gray eyes stopped moving, they had settled on Rowan, who observed him thoughtfully. One thing had become apparent from the first night they arrived; wherever Rowan had gone during his summer holiday had changed him drastically.

"You talk about it like it's a bad thing," Rowan finally said.

"What about…" Scorpius stammered. Then he looked down at the ground. "I'm pants at meeting new people. What if I bollocks it up? What if she hates me or something?"

"Well, it's not as if you haven't survived without her before," Rowan said after another long pause. "She hasn't been around for, what, twelve years, at least…"

Scorpius groaned. "You don't get it."

"I get that you can't count on anything staying the same," Rowan answered. "A little over a year ago, I was just a normal kid living in an English town. Sure, I didn't have a dad, but I'd never really had one. My mum and my gran took good care of me and the only two worries I had were going to a new secondary school and figuring out how to stop Melinda Barrett from punching me on the nose. Now I'm in my second year at a wizard school with no parents and a drifter for an uncle, and Melinda's asking me for help with her classes."

The way Rowan described all of this was almost matter-of-fact. Albus had seen the constant fear and apprehension in the other boy's eyes the whole of last year – yet little to none of it remained.

"So that's how you remembered her," Albus remarked, noting Rowan's uncharacteristically strong reaction to Melinda's name being called at the Sorting. "And you had no idea she was a witch?"

"Of course not," Rowan said. "I had no idea _I _was a wizard until the day I turned eleven, back the August before last. Mel's birthday is in April, so she would have found out after I was long gone. And speaking of Mel…"

He pulled back his robes to look at a watch he certainly had not had when Albus saw him leave King's Cross a few months ago.

"She's waiting for me in the Great Hall," Rowan explained a bit hurriedly, darting toward the door and disappearing out of it.

Scorpius slumped back down to his bed once Rowan was out of earshot. "I'm so pathetic."

"Oi – none of that," Albus said warningly. "You're not pathetic. You're just nervous. It's understandable."

Scorpius didn't speak much more after that. In fact, he didn't speak much at all as the two dressed, left their dormitory, met up with Sylvia and Rose in the common room, and started the trek to the Great Hall, which had been repaired quite skillfully since the fire at the end of the previous term.

"Dad's Flying class is a shambles this year," Sylvia said as they started down the stairs. "He says this class of first years doesn't have as much talent on the brooms as ours."

"Well, of course he'd say that," Rose said a bit dismissively. "You were in last year's class."

"Obviously I was a fair flyer because Dad taught me before I came to school," Sylvia retorted. "But I'm saying, there were – what – four, five first years that made that House teams last time? Scorpius, the Mack boys from Hufflepuff, Bletchley from Slytherin… I don't think it'll be that way this year."

"You never know," Scorpius finally came out of his shell enough to comment. "A lot of it's down to how many people left from last year's teams. I know four of ours have gone. Cole Murphy, Mitchell, and Creese have all graduated, and I don't think Egan's coming back to the team. The tryout field wasn't especially large, either, last year, now that I remember it… we just don't seem to have enough people that want to play."

"You're only really looking for reserves, right?" Sylvia asked. "James is more than good enough to start at Chaser. McLaggen's a fair Beater, as little as I can stand him… you've still got Greta, you've still got Oakley, Freddy Weasley… and then you've got the other bloke… um… fourth year, forget his name…"

"Rodney?" replied Scorpius. "I guess you're right, we could be a lot worse off. But some of the Houses are returning their entire bloody team, just about. Maxwell's taken over as Ravenclaw Captain, and I hear their entire first line is back except for Higgs."

Sylvia smirked. "Concerned, are we?"

"What are you – mad?" Scorpius retorted. "We're a lot better off now that we don't have an idiot like Cole running the team. We're well shot of him, honestly…"

"Are you sure about that?" Rose asked. Both Scorpius and Sylvia turned to look at her, more surprised perhaps by her actual participation than the question she was asking. "I mean… this is Greta's going to be taking N.E.W.T. classes now, she's a Prefect, _and _Quidditch captain. I don't know where she finds the time, honestly."

"Still a better captain than Cole Murphy," Scorpius said a bit tersely. Albus had noted that Scorpius's dislike of Cole had always been rather strong – but in the summer months it had, if possible, intensified. Just what had Cole done at the end of the season to deserve Scorpius's wrath? "At any rate, she wouldn't put Freddy in at Chaser again, let alone just to make a point."

"Still sore at him for that?" Albus asked.

"Well, of course I am!" snapped Scorpius, his fists clenched. "We had a good team. We could have won the cup last year. But then Cole had to go and… and bollocks it all up with his stupid favoritism."

"I heard he's doing alright for Tutshill," Sylvia threw in offhandedly – but her uncharacteristically meek tone gave away that she already thought talking was a mistake. Scorpius proved her right.

"I don't give a damn what he does for Tutshill," Scorpius replied. "Here, he was an awful Captain. I don't know what Longbottom was thinking when he picked him."

"Sometimes you can't tell what kind of person someone is until after you give them a bit of power," said Rose bracingly. "That's what Mum says. Sometimes they really are tyrants… but sometimes they're decent people that just cracked under the pressure."

Scorpius turned away from Rose bitterly. "It's all the same to me," he said. "I'm glad he's gone."

Albus realized that the time away from school had not diminished Scorpius's rather quick temper in the slightest.

The Great Hall was unusually full today. The usual tendency of the older students to sleep in a bit longer hadn't taken full effect yet. Plus, Albus thought, this being the first week, a lot of them were still trying to catch up with other friends.

"…So, do you see her anywhere?" asked Scorpius, not sounding much like he wanted to know the answer.

"Nothing," replied Sylvia.

"You're late."

Scorpius froze.

Albus whirled around. Dressed in her new, Slytherin-colored school robes, she approached the group quickly. She was wearing a white Alice band to keep her curly, black hair out of her eyes today. They were green like Albus's own – a fact that he found a strange coincidence. But there was something unnerving about her – especially the way that she had suddenly appeared. Maybe they had managed to walk right past her. She was rather short and could have been easily to overlook – or, rather, easy to look over.

"Merlena…" Scorpius muttered. She winced.

"We have a lot to learn about each other," she said. "The first thing – _never_ call me Merlena. It's just Lena."

"Why?" asked Scorpius curiously. "It seems like a nice name."

"Mum will be glad to hear that _somebody_ thinks so," she said dispassionately. "Even though I was a girl, she still wanted to name me after Merlin. Thought it'd be clever."

"Oi – you lot need to move over," a loud voice said, sounding irritable. Temple, the new Gryffindor male Prefect and a bigger, stockier type, was striding over to them. "You're blocking the doorway."

And Temple whisked past them, but not before throwing a glare in Lena's direction. Albus got the feeling that he had been the only one that had seen it, up until Lena queried, "What did _I _ever do to him?"

"Didn't have to do anything," Scorpius said. "Gryffindors and Slytherins have been rivals for centuries."

"Yeah, I get that much…" Lena replied skeptically. "But you'd think I'd just murdered his pet owl. Well, we'd best be off, Scorpius."

"Where do you think you're going?" asked Rose suspiciously. Scorpius gave a flummoxed grimace. Lena did not appear cowed.

"Calm down, _missus_," Sylvia sighed. Rose made an offended squeak that sounded quite a bit like a rat whose tail had been trodden upon. Between that and the fact that her face had suddenly gone as pink as her ears, Albus had to try hard not to laugh.

"These are all friends of mine," Scorpius finally said. "I want you to meet them first. Then, we'll go wherever you want."

So the five finally sat at a table together. Albus's heart jolted a bit as he saw the long, blond hair of Stephan Vaisey, who was leaving the table with Desmond McLaggen. Vaisey had the usual smug expression on his face as he surveyed his fellow Gryffindors, but his demeanor changed when he laid eyes on Lena. And in perhaps the most bizarre thing Albus had seen in a while, Vaisey, completely unsolicited, leaned down and put his hand atop Lena's curly hair – a gesture that didn't surprise Lena at all.

"Holding up alright so far?" he asked.

Lena smiled. "Well enough."

And Vaisey departed.

Desmond McLaggen was a few steps behind him. He didn't appear thrown by Vaisey's actions at all. Rather, he placed his eyes on Scorpius.

"Oi. Malfoy," he said.

"What is it?" Scorpius, who didn't speak much to McLaggen if he could help it, asked.

"We may have a problem," McLaggen said, frowning. "With the team, I mean. Greta's not sure about Oakley."

Scorpius's jaw dropped. "What do you mean, 'not sure about Oakley'?"

"Well…" McLaggen replied. "Greta told me that Oakley's considering quitting Quidditch to focus on his N.E.W.T. studies. Personally, I think he's just pissed off that he got passed over as Captain, but there you have it."

"And you expect me to do… what about this, exactly?" asked Scorpius.

McLaggen grimaced. "Not much. Oi! Thomas!"

Everyone's eyes turned to Sylvia, who had, if anything, an even lower tolerance for Desmond McLaggen than Scorpius did. "What?"

"You've got Chaser in your blood, don't you?" asked McLaggen. "You should try out this year. We've lost about half our team."

"Tell me something I don't know already," Sylvia said a bit apathetically.

"No reason to get shirty," McLaggen said, frowning in disapproval. "I'm just saying… opportunity's there if you'd like. I could even put in a good word for you to Greta."

Sylvia, to no one's surprise, didn't take this comment well. She pushed her hands into the table and stood. Albus, who was sitting directly across from her, couldn't help but flinch a bit. "I don't need Greta's help to make a Quidditch team, McLaggen."

McLaggen smirked maddeningly. "I suppose not… I guess that means I'll see you at tryouts?"

Sylvia glared at him in response. McLaggen laughed and walked away. Once he was out of earshot, Sylvia scoffed and started to sit.

"What… an idiot." she laughed, looking at Albus in particular.

"You don't have to sleep in the same room with him," Albus said darkly.

Scorpius uncertainly asked, "So… are you going to try out for Chaser?"

Sylvia smiled coyly. "I've thought about it."

"Thomas…" Lena said, pensively holding her chin as if trying to remember something. "I had a teacher named Thomas…"

"Flying instructor?" asked Scorpius.

"That's it," Lena replied, straightening her pointer finger. "I wasn't there very long… Dad taught me before I came to Hogwarts, so the test was easy." She turned her eyes on Sylvia. "So you're the Flying instructor's…"

"…Daughter," Sylvia finished. Lena tilted her head in surprise.

"Really?" she asked. "You don't look much alike."

"Everyone says I look more like my mum," Sylvia answered, looking thoroughly unhappy about it. "So… you made friends with Vaisey, hm? My sympathies."

"What's that supposed to mean?" asked Lena, her vague smile disappearing in a flash. "I've known Stephan my whole life. We practically grew up together."

Albus knew she was telling the truth; for whatever reason, no one Albus knew among the students _ever_ called Stephan Vaisey by his first name. Lena had been the first one.

"Our fathers have been friends for years," she explained. "They played on the Slytherin Quidditch team together in the 90s."

"The 90s?" repeated Scorpius. "My dad wasn't on that team, was he?"

"He was, actually," Lena said. "But my father can't stand him. He skived off a lot of practices and missed a match the year my dad was Captain. Slytherin finished last in the league and my dad took a lot of the blame. There's no love lost between our parents, Scorpius. But I guess you knew that already?"

"Our mums aren't speaking," Scorpius replied. "Even though they're sisters?"

Lena shook her head. "They haven't talked since before we were born. That's at least… what, twelve years? You're twelve, right?"

"Yeah…" Scorpius replied.

"I think it's a bit ridiculous," she said. "To be sisters and not talk that long. I mean… Tania annoys me sometimes, but… twelve years? I couldn't picture not speaking to her for twelve years. Mum says they haven't spoken since before your parents were married."

"It's been longer than twelve, then," said Scorpius somberly. "At least fifteen. Mum said I didn't come along until three years after she and Dad were married. Dad didn't really want children…"

Scorpius trailed off and swallowed hard. Then, after drumming his fingers against the table rather awkwardly for a couple of moments, he stood up and made to leave. Lena's jaw unhinged weakly. "Wait… hold on!"

And she walked off after him.

Rose grimaced and made to stand up, but Sylvia grabbed hold of her wrist. Rose gave Sylvia an incredulous look. Sylvia, wordlessly, shook her head, and Rose ceased to protest, sliding back down to her seat. Albus looked closely at her eyes and saw them tearing up. But Rose shook her head suddenly and began to busy herself with finally fixing her breakfast plate.

"Come on, don't be a bloody crybaby…" Albus heard her mutter directly to herself.

"Rose, are you alright?" he asked.

"I'm _fine_," Rose said stubbornly. Albus frowned. He didn't believe her for a second. But he also knew it would do no good to press the issue. Plus, he needed food.

The three finished eating in a somewhat subdued silence. Albus couldn't look at Sylvia, and Rose was as fixated on her food as she'd been with any book Albus had ever seen her read. In fact, she didn't bother hanging around after she was done.

"I'm going to the library," she said breathlessly, disappearing from the table in a blur and leaving Sylvia and Albus alone. After several moments more of silence, she glanced up at the ceiling.

"You can hardly tell, can you?" she asked.

Albus hadn't exactly been listening. His eyes were following Rose as she left the Great Hall. "Huh?"

Sylvia's face made a disapproving twitch. "I mean… they really did a good job making the Great Hall look like new."

She smiled vaguely. After a couple of moments, she tilted her head and frowned. "Al, you're staring at me."

Albus hadn't noticed it until she'd said something. But he managed to recover spectacularly – and with the truth, at that. "Erm… you've got egg on your face. Right there."

He pointed to a spot on the corner of his own mouth. Sylvia's reaction was actually a bit comical. Her mouth fell into a perfect 'O' and then she started moving her lips around, trying to find the offending bit of food. Tracing a napkin around her mouth, she finally got rid of it. "Wow, you're right. I would've walked around looking like some sort of pig."

Albus laughed briefly, and she joined him. "I want to ask you something."

Albus's face fell. What was this, exactly?

"Do you really think I should?" she asked with an uncertain air. "You know… go out for Chaser?"

"Why are you asking me?" replied Albus seriously. "If you want to do it, why not?"

At this, Sylvia frowned and actually looked a bit angry. "I told you last year. I don't think it'll be fair if my dad's calling the matches. You weren't listening?"

"That's what Professor Longbottom said to you," said Albus. "But he never said you _couldn't_ try out…"

"No, he never did," Sylvia replied thoughtfully.

"But… why are you asking me?" questioned Albus. "Why don't you find someone… I don't know, _older_, like your mum or dad, or…"

"I already know what they're going to say," Sylvia said huffily. "Dad wants me to play, since he wasn't really able to. But I'm not that experienced. Mum doesn't want me to play at all. 'People get broken noses in Quidditch,' she says. 'Your face is so pretty, I'd hate to see you ruin it…' And maybe she's right. But… she's always wanted me to be a girly girl, and I'm just… not. I never have been."

Albus couldn't help but smile a bit as he remembered Sylvia's summer visit, where she dispensed with her frilly dress to play in the grass.

"I know how much you like it… you should try out if you really want," Albus finally said.

"Maybe I will," Sylvia said after a moment's pause. She smiled, and suddenly Albus felt that nagging, strange feeling again.

**James**

"Oi, mate."

James's eyes shot open and he gasped. He'd been on his broom and had just been inexplicably saved from the giant flobberworm that was about to swallow him and his broom whole…

"What did we have again yesterday?" he murmured, sitting up in his four-poster and palming half his face. "Right before bed?"

"Noisy Nougat Chews," Murphy's voice replied.

"Yeah, those," James muttered. "Let's not do those at midnight ever again."

"…If you say so," Murphy acquiesced. "Seemed enjoyable, if you ask me."

James couldn't be terribly upset. After all, he'd had much worse nightmares. He wasn't even sure the prospect of being swallowed by a giant flobberworm qualified as a nightmare. Flobberworms didn't really have teeth. (He knew that because he'd spent the last several weeks trying to keep one fed. Apparently Hagrid's first lesson with the third years nowadays was the life cycle of a flobberworm. Why they needed to know about that, James had no earthly idea.)

"You did a fair horse last night," commented Dathan Rama, who was already up. James and Murphy both laughed.

"Glad to hear you're having a good laugh," Cecil Brookstanton said sourly. "I would have preferred sleep, with tryouts today."

"Tryouts?" repeated James.

"_Quidditch _tryouts?" answered Cecil, giving James a flummoxed look. "You… _are_ on the team, aren't you? I thought you knew that already."

"Of course I know that already," said James impatiently. "I just didn't know _you_ were going out."

"I didn't let anyone know. I'll be going out for Keeper," said Cecil. "Now your brother's gone, Rick, I should have a shot, right?"

Murphy offered no comment.

"I thought maybe you'd take a crack at it, too," Cecil remarked, "but I guess you're too worried about messing up your hair, right?"

Indeed, Richard Murphy's locks had grown down to his shoulders, and their seemingly effortless straightness and sheen were the envy of many a young witch. Fortunately, James never had this problem. His hair was messy and wild, more often than not giving beholders the impression that he had come straight from bed.

"Maybe I don't want to make you look like an arse in front of the rest of the field," Murphy said with a smirk.

Cecil rolled his eyes. "Not bloody likely. Catch you lot later."

James groaned. "If Greta hadn't told me to be there, I wouldn't even show up."

"You should hurry up and get breakfast," Murphy said.

Murphy and James hurried to the Great Hall to eat, and separated from there. Murphy meant to spend some time with Anna. James knew Murphy wasn't going to be missing much. Unless a bunch of Gryffindors that hadn't tried out before suddenly found some sort of hidden talent over the summer, he was fully expecting these tryouts to be a disaster.

The first bad sign came when he arrived at the pitch – early, as Greta had instructed the members of last year's team to do – and realized that there were only six people there. James was one, Greta was another, Desmond McLaggen (who, impossibly enough, was _still _bigger than James) was a third. Freddy was there, talking animatedly to Greta. Scorpius appeared to have his mind somewhere else as usual, and Asher Rodney was stretching. They needed at least one more player to be able to field a team, let alone four reserves.

"Only six of us?" asked James.

"Hey, look who learned how to count over the summer," said Freddy. Greta and Asher Rodney both sniggered.

"Sod off, Freddy," deadpanned James.

"Yep, we're a touch shorthanded," Greta sighed.

"We don't have enough players to field a team," Desmond McLaggen said. "I can't believe Oakley – that…"

And then he used a term not usually heard in polite conversation.

"I mean," McLaggen went on, looking around at his teammates. "How egotistical can you get? 'Oh, I got passed over for Captain my seventh year, so I'm going to quit on the rest of my teammates.' No wonder he never got the badge. Longbottom must've known that about him from the jump."

"Actually, McLaggen," Greta said, once McLaggen had exhausted his tirade. "Oakley went to the… erm, I think Muggles call them 'Doctors.' They're sort of like Healers, but not really. To make a very long story short, they recommended he stop playing. He's got something or other wrong with his back to where another hard hit to it might paralyze him for the rest of his life."

McLaggen's jaw dropped.

"Damn," groaned Freddy. "Too many Bludger shots?"

"I don't know," admitted Greta, "but I doubt those helped the situation. But, from what I hear, he'll be taking over the announcing. There was some young girl that was meant to do it, but she pulled out, and since Hatcher's gone, there you are. So we're..." Greta sighed and shook her head. "We're fine. Just because they didn't all show up last year doesn't mean there's no one left in Gryffindor that can play Quidditch. All we need are good flyers, really. Then we can work from there."

Slowly but surely, the tryouts arrived. James recognized many of them. Cecil Brookstanton gave James a smug smirk when he appeared. Alphonse Gold was the only first year to show up. Gemma Bridge's appearance was a bit of a surprise – but even more so when she arrived with a broom, and not just to watch. A couple of fourth year boys showed up, one of them carrying a Beater's bat. Asher Rodney didn't appear too happy to see them. It was just then that James glimpsed the stands, where several Gryffindors were gathering. He saw Albus and Rose taking seats not far from Madison Peakes, who must have come with Gemma. What were they doing here? Surely Scorpius must have mentioned to them that the present team members were here mostly as a formality. Greta not only never intended to cut anyone from last year's team, she likely couldn't afford to do it with so few of them remaining already.

"So we're just going to find good flyers and teach them positions?" asked Freddy. "I'm not sure that's going to work…"

"Me, either, but I'm not sure we have a choice," muttered Greta.

"It'll be alright," McLaggen commented. "We only need, what… three fair players, right?"

"Can you… count…? Desmond?" Freddy asked. "We have _six_ players. It's eleven to a team, so we need five."

McLaggen waved his hand. "Yeah, but… the tenth and eleventh… I mean, who cares? We can just leave them on the bench if need be."

Greta audibly growled at this, folding her arms. "Our last captain…" she said the words distastefully, and the face she made implied that even the words themselves tasted bad, "…thought just like that. That's why we only have six players instead of seven. Egan would still be here with us if he'd been treated a little bit better."

"Well, Cole's not around anymore, is he?" McLaggen asked, folding his arms. "He could have come back if he wanted. Maybe Egan doesn't like Quidditch anymore."

"Maybe he did when he started playing," said Greta darkly. She turned to the tryouts. James did as well, and heard McLaggen give a smug chuckle of '_Oho…'_

There was a tan-skinned girl in the middle of the small throng of tryouts. James recognized her instantly. After all, she'd been over to visit them earlier that summer.

"All right, ladies and gents!" Greta said loudly. "Welcome to tryouts for Gryffindor QC's 2018 team. My name's Greta Stanford and I'll be serving as Captain this year. Now, we're going to have a full, proper tryout this afternoon. We've got a lot of spots to fill, and the current team will be helping me out by testing you lot in some common positional situations. In layman's terms, if you're going out for Keeper, you'll be attempting to guard an actual set of rings from current and tryout Chasers. If you're a Chaser, than the other way around; you'll be attempting to score on goal while Keepers try to stop you."

"Are there going to be actual Bludgers?" asked Sylvia Thomas, looking askance.

"Not today," Greta answered. "Not real Bludgers, anyway. I've got no intention of filling Madam Pomfrey's hospital ward with a bunch of greenhorns that don't have their head on a swivel."

"So how will we be able to handle real Bludgers, then?" asked Sylvia.

"You can worry about that if you make the team, Thomas," Greta said seriously. "Now! We've lost all of our Keepers from last year – I need at least two people willing to try out!"

She began shouting instructions to the aspiring players. One of them was for tryout Chasers to follow her. Sylvia followed that group.

"So I guess you convinced her, eh, Malfoy?" laughed McLaggen. "This'll be interesting."

It most certainly was exactly that. Greta had little mercy on Gemma Bridge, who had either come out for Keeper or decided to try out for it on the spot. She lined up James and Asher Rodney, and when Gemma managed to save three of Asher's shots in a row, Greta ordered Asher off the pitch and stepped in herself. The first Quaffle she threw nailed poor Gemma right in the nose (but notably, did not find a ring). James thought they were about to witness a full-scale meltdown right there on the pitch, right up until Gemma pulled out her wand, cast a spell on herself ("_Episkey!"_) and kept right on going. James had to admit to being impressed at the end. He'd known Gemma nominally for nearly three years now and didn't think she had that sort of thing in her.

Cecil Brookstanton tried out for Keeper next. Greta, much to James's chagrin, chose herself and Asher for Cecil's tryout. Asher had a nasty habit of telegraphing his shots, which served to make Cecil look a beat better than he actually was. Cecil was no match for Greta, though, who turned him inside out with feint after feint.

One of Asher's roommates went out for Keeper third. He looked a bit unsure up there, and James got the feeling Keeper wasn't his best position. But he was decently capable… just not capable enough to stop James's Spiral Ploy.

The Chaser tryouts were next. The second of Asher's roommates went in for Chaser and was guarded by Gemma, which was probably a good sign for the latter's chances of making the team. They were an even match – Gemma won some and Asher's roommate won some.

A fifth year boy that shared a dormitory with Freddy and had arrived late ("Somebody charmed the announcement on the board to read eleven instead of ten…") tried his hand at the position. He made Freddy's brief stint at Chaser look like quality Quidditch, and probably knew his fate immediately, as he left for lunch directly after the tryout. Greta, understandably, wasn't happy about this time-wasting turn of events, and Scorpius directly told Freddy, "Your friend's an idiot…"

…To which Freddy responded, "Who? I don't know that bloke."

Alphonse Gold was next and proved to be very nearlyas capable as his talk. Somewhat unfortunately for him, Sylvia directly followed. Her two first year classmates, McLaggen and Scorpius, hung on her every move. Scorpius was his typical low-key self. McLaggen, on the other hand, would heckle or make some sort of snarky comment the entire time. But the way he went about it made James wonder whether he didn't secretly support Sylvia making the team.

Beaters were next – it was a subdued tryout with only two people and fake Bludgers. And, much, to James's disappointment, no one at all tried out for Seeker.

After the tryouts had cleared, James spent most of the rest of the afternoon with Brynne and Murphy, then went back to the common room to wait by the board. He had strong suspicions about Greta's decisions already, but was under strict orders not to discuss them with anyone. He wasn't about to disobey those orders, either – experienced wizards, James knew, had ways of finding out when someone talked after promising silence. They had ways of making those talkers pay for it, too.

He and Murphy fell into one of the two opposite couches nearest the bulletin board. Gemma Bridge settled down across from them, silent and looking as green as a Slytherin banner. When Madison Peakes looked to be coming over as well, Murphy suddenly realized how full his bladder was (even though they'd stopped at the toilets on the way back to Gryffindor tower) and departed almost instantly. Albus's 'group' arrived back from dinner well after James did. A couple of Gryffindor sixth years were snogging on the couch nearest the fireplace, and a thoroughly unamused Dominique Weasley had her now-bespectacled face in an issue of _The Daily Prophet._ This left Albus and his other second years with no particular place to go, so they milled about aimlessly.

At last the moment arrived. Greta Stanford walked in, carrying the parchment. Suddenly, Gemma Bridge jumped to her feet and bolted toward the portrait hole, followed quickly by Madison ("Gemma, _wait!_")

James was a beat late, but it didn't take long for him to see someone disappointed – Cecil Brookstanton had been first to the board (inadvertently shouldering a first year boy on the way, but not apologizing). Cecil stood there for a couple of seconds, then groaned, "_Damn_ it," as he stomped off toward the portrait hole. James managed to push his way toward the bulletin board as well.

_Gryffindor QC Roster 2018-2019_

_Head of House: Prof. Neville F. Longbottom, OMF_

_First Line_

_Keeper: Gemma Bridge (3__rd__)_

_Chaser: Greta Stanford (6__th__) – CAPTAIN_

_Chaser: James Potter (3__rd__)  
Chaser: Asher Rodney (4__th__)_

_Beater: Freddy Weasley (5__th__)_

_Beater: Desmond McLaggen (2__nd__)_

_Seeker: Scorpius Malfoy (2__nd__)_

_Reserves:_

_Sylvia Thomas (2__nd__) – Chaser_

_Alphonse Gold (1__st__) – Chaser, Beater_

_Kenneth Bourne (4__th__) – Beater, Chaser_

_Cecil Brookstanton (3__rd__) – Keeper_

James smiled. It had been almost a foregone conclusion, but it still felt good to see his name here on paper under the first line. Greta had picked three of the same people he would have if he had been Captain. Well, four… James didn't like Cecil much, but he _had_ been a better Keeper than the other bloke that had tried it, and they needed two decent Keepers. Bourne was fair at everything he did, but not flashy. He swung a good bat, though, and that would come in handy. Alphonse Gold (who had just glimpsed his name and gone away screaming at the top of his lungs, "I MADE IT! I MADE IT!") didn't have the best shot yet, but he was the type of flyer most likely to put his body on another Chaser. Half of a Chaser's job was defense, after all, and Gold looked like he'd be good at it if he could stay in one piece. His body hadn't quite caught up to his grit, but that would likely come with time.

"Hey…" a girl's voice sounded, a bit nervously. "Hey, James…"

James turned around. It was Sylvia, who seemed uncharacteristically afraid to approach the board. James decided to save her the trouble. Wordlessly, he nodded. Her eyes lit up; a look of disbelief crossed her face for a moment.

"Really?" she asked.

"Really," repeated James. "Greta thought you were brilliant."

She grinned, then tried to hide it, then darted away. James looked up just in time to see Sylvia arrive at his brother and envelop him while a shocked Rose and a smiling Scorpius (and what a rare sight that was) looked on. Albus seemed taken aback for a moment, and responded by freezing and grabbing the air.

And speaking of being enveloped, James found someone's arm around his throat.

"Ouch!" he snarled, kicking his heel backward and finding the shin of his attacker. "Arse!"

Holding his neck, he looked over his shoulder and found Freddy.

"So, what have we got?" Freddy asked.

James decided to have a bit of fun. "You've been demoted."

"What!?" Freddy squawked, pushing his way around James and through a couple of people to the board where the roster was pinned. He stared at it for a moment, deflated, and flashed a rude hand gesture James's way. James laughed.

"You really think Greta would be that thick? The Beater tryouts were a mess," he said.

"You can never be sure what women are thinking," Freddy said fairly.

"She'd probably kill you if she heard you say that," James commented as he and Freddy started further from the board.

"Probably…" Freddy stared up at the ceiling. Then, looking at James, he smirked. "I notice the Arbiter's daughter's on the list. I mean, her tryout _was _brilliant. Probably better than yours last year."

James couldn't help but be a bit irked at this. He thought it was going a bit far. "Well, she didn't try out for Seeker, either, so…"

Freddy smiled wryly. "We'll probably get every call in the book when she's in the air with us."

"Don't bring that up," James said, grimacing. "Scorpius says it's not worth the headache…"

"We're probably better off with this mix, anyway," Freddy said. "Oakley didn't know how to protect his body, and Egan… alright bloke, but he was sort of sulky. Never said much. From what McLaggen was saying, Sylvia's a real fireball… she'll fit right in."

"Sure hope so," James mused, smiling a bit. For now, he certainly saw every reason to be optimistic.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4: Into Town**

Albus languidly drummed his fingers against the Great Hall table between bites of his supper. Rose, although she had a full plate in front of her, was studying her Charms text and not looking at him or her food.

"How long do you think Greta's going to keep them?" asked Albus.

Rose looked up. "Sorry… what?"

Albus groaned, rolling his eyes.

"It's Friday," he muttered in annoyance. "Can't you put that book down for a second?"

"This is Unity Weekend, remember?" replied Rose, although she did put the book down to look Albus in the eye. Albus remembered – although he couldn't for the life of him figure out how it had arrived so quickly. It seemed like they were arriving on the train just yesterday. Rose had to say no more. She had mostly dispensed with her midday trips to the library, but it was still her habit to do much of her studying in the last few hours of the evening. With several new faces in her room, though, she tended to find it hard to concentrate. And even if students were allowed access to it late at night, the library after dark was an unsettling place at best.

Still, though, Albus wished Rose didn't have to do her studying _now_. After all, with Scorpius and Sylvia still off at Quidditch practice, Albus had no one to talk to. He glanced up at the ceiling. Unless the Great Hall's ceiling was completely wrong (and it had never been before), it was soggy outside. Between that, and the fact that Greta had for some reason scheduled practice right on top of supper, the Gryffindor Quidditch players were sure to be in a less-than-pleasant mood if and when they did come inside. At least, Albus knew he wouldn't be in a good mood if he were hungry and forced to fly in the rain. He glanced behind Rose to one of the other tables after hearing an uproar of laughter. Louis Weasley was at the center of a small throng of Ravenclaws, thoroughly enjoying himself. Albus felt a pang of jealousy for his younger cousin. Albus was never antisocial, but he was quiet and a bit shy. Whereas Louis was outgoing, witty, and had a charming personality, Albus always seemed to gravitate toward people that would have been lonely otherwise. Even among his family members, he had always been closest to the much more introverted Rose and Dominique.

Speaking of Dominique, she was a bit further down the table, speaking to Roxanne and looking concerned. Roxanne responded in a way that Dominique apparently didn't like. She shook her blond-haired head as she spoke. Roxanne responded by throwing up her hands and talking very animatedly. Dominique went to respond in kind, but saw something or someone, jumped to her feet, and departed. Five seconds later, Tommy Jordan sat down where Dominique had just been. Meanwhile, Dominique passed by Albus and Rose without saying so much as a word to them. Albus's eyes followed her as she tried to leave the Great Hall as quickly as possible, nearly knocking over two other students on the way. In strode Scorpius and Sylvia, the latter still wearing her Quidditch top over jeans. The number '9' stood out prominently in gold on the front of her shirt. Scorpius was seen waving someone off. "_Later_, alright?" he said loudly.

Albus tried to look toward the same spot Scorpius was looking. There, he saw Lena Urquhart sinking back into her seat, looking irritated. She was flanked by Stephan Vaisey, and Desmond McLaggen, who with his rather vast form had still managed to slip in unnoticed.

"Sorry about being so late," Sylvia said casually as the two of them arrived. Then, shooting Scorpius a look, she said, "_Someone_ insisted on going back up to the Tower to wash his hair out."

"Well, would you have come into the Great Hall with mud in your hair?" Scorpius argued.

"Of course I wouldn't," Sylvia replied. "I'd have, you know, one of my _wizard friends_ magic it out and save myself the trouble."

Scorpius looked at Sylvia askance. "You… we just learned that charm this week."

Sylvia deflated. "You don't trust me. That's all."

"Wait – hold on… what?" Albus stopped the both of them. He looked at Scorpius. "_How_ did you get mud in your hair?"

"McLaggen," said Scorpius, grimacing. Sylvia sniggered.

"What?" repeated Albus, a bit more hotly.

"It's not what it sounds like," said Sylvia. "Actually, it's a lot funnier. Scorpius was trying to catch a Snitch. McLaggen saw a low-flying Bludger and tried to cut it off… they hit each other."

"Oh, Merlin's…" murmured Rose, palming her own face.

"Scorpius actually got off easy," said Sylvia. "McLaggen landed face-first in the mud."

She scoffed and shook her head.

"He'd be funny if he didn't think he was so clever," she commented.

Scorpius raised his eyebrows skeptically.

"Charms?" asked Sylvia, noticing Rose's book. "See anything useful?"

"Actually, I can hardly hear myself think," Rose replied, throwing Sylvia a dirty look.

"Hey, it's not my fault," Sylvia said. "Albus, tell her it's not my fault."

Albus gave Sylvia a look of bewilderment. Then, suddenly, Rose slapped her book shut.

"Oh, _never mind_…" she groaned. Turning her head toward Sylvia, who had settled into a seat right next to her, she said, "Any idea if we'll have any visitors tonight?"

"Why should I know?" asked Sylvia.

"Because you know just about everyone in our year – that's why," Rose said. Indeed, Sylvia was the most social out of the group by a long shot.

Sylvia began to fill her plate. "Well… she hasn't told me one way or another, but seeing Iris wouldn't surprise me if she got bored enough."

Albus had caught sight of Iris Conrad, a Ravenclaw girl in their year, on the way in. She was by herself, reading a book and looking even more Rose-ish than Rose usually did. She was usually mousy and quiet, but this year she had been _unusually_ mousy and quiet. Albus remembered going nearly a month before hearing two words out of her last year, and this year had been more of the same.

"Doesn't she have any friends in her own house?" Albus asked. He winced immediately afterward. He knew it had sounded a bit cruel, and he hadn't meant it that way.

"I don't think she has a lot of friends here at Hogwarts at all," Sylvia asked. "She's really shy. Scared of people, really. She made one friend last year, and that was Lilith Cross."

The four of them went silent and somber.

"Does anybody have any idea yet what happened to her?" asked Albus.

"If they do, nobody's talking," Sylvia replied.

"I…" Scorpius seemed ready to say something. Albus could see the cogs working in his brain. He appeared to change his mind at least twice before finally saying, "I'll be going this weekend. To Slytherin."

Albus wasn't surprised.

Rose's jaw opened for a moment. "What? Why? I thought…"

"Lena and I still have a lot of catching up to do," Scorpius explained. "I thought I'd have more time, but ever since Quidditch practices started again…"

Rose grimaced. Scorpius smacked the table. Sylvia jumped horribly as she had to save her goblet from being upended. She glanced nervously from Scorpius to Rose and back.

"Just because you don't know anybody else but the three of us doesn't mean I can't do what I want," Scorpius said. "You're being selfish."

"I'm _not_," Rose said, a trace of a whine in her voice that Albus was sure that only he could pick up from having known her so long. "I just don't understand why she can't come up to Gryffindor Tower."

"She's a little bit nervous about it," Scorpius said. "And she doesn't know the Gryffindor girls in her year. I at least know Nott down in Slytherin."

"But you don't like him much," Albus pointed out.

"No, I don't," admitted Scorpius. "But I don't like Vaisey much, either, and I've roomed with him for a whole year. I can deal with Tellius Nott for a day. Someone's going to have to give, and I'd rather it be me."

Albus did some counting in his head and then groaned.

"What's wrong?" asked Sylvia.

"It'll be just me and Rowan the whole weekend," he muttered. Not that he minded Rowan… it was just that Rowan had changed so drastically over the summer that it was like rooming with a stranger. Familiar faces (even if they did include the likes of Vaisey and McLaggen) offset the problem a bit, but with no one else around… "Vaisey's going off to Hufflepuff…"

"Thank God," Scorpius interrupted, sounding relieved. "I thought he'd be going to Slytherin, too, but I think he changed his mind when he saw my name on the list. That would've been awkward…"

"…And McLaggen's going to Ravenclaw Tower," said Sylvia. "He was talking about it earlier. Greta tried to talk him out of it, but you know him… thick body, even thicker skull."

"Why?" asked Albus.

"He seems to think he can get one of the first years that don't know him to blab about Ravenclaw's lineup," Sylvia said. "We drew them first this year."

Scorpius shook his head. "You've got to give him credit for his nerve, I guess…"

"It's not going to end well," Sylvia said. "Especially with Ravenclaws, as clever as they are. They'll see a trick like that coming a mile away."

Scorpius waited a moment. "Hey, Al. Maybe you should come along to Slytherin, too."

Albus looked up at Scorpius.

"Why?" he asked.

"Why not?" asked Sylvia. "We should all go – just to see what it's like."

"Oh, no, you don't," snarled Rose. "You're not leaving me with Nina, Liz, and whoever their 'friends' are this year."

"I don't think that's a good idea, either," said Scorpius. "I mean… one Gryffindor would come off as weird. Four would look like an invasion. Besides, Lena told me that the Slytherin second year girls are nasty pieces of work."

"Brynne Walter's alright," Sylvia replied. "Weird… but alright."

"Maybe," said Scorpius. "The other two, though?" He smiled ironically. "I'm sure you'd all wind up fighting each other."

"Remind me their names again?" asked Sylvia.

"Marsha Flint and Amara Zabini," Malfoy said.

Sylvia's nose wrinkled as if the names themselves had given off a foul odor. "Ugh… good point. It's just too bad we're not third years yet. We'd be able to go to Hogsmeade."

"It's really not that big a deal," said Albus, shrugging his shoulders. "It's not that fun once you've seen everything a couple of times... or a couple dozen."

"Well, except Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes," said Sylvia, pouting petulantly. "Dad promised me we'd go this past summer and we never did."

Rose chuckled. "You don't want to go to the Hogsmeade branch when the students are there. It's mad," she said. "It'd be nice to see everyone, though…"

Albus knew from going once or twice that Weasleys tended to gather at the Hogsmeade store branch on the weekends when the students were in town. Usually, the adults' busy jobs kept them away, but they sometimes sent their younger children to the shop to see the older ones. Even little Molly and Lucy got to visit every so often. With a pang of jealousy, Albus remembered that James was a third year this month. He'd get to go on one of the trips for the first time. Like Albus, James had been to Hogsmeade enough times with other family members that the novelty had long since worn off. Still, though, it would have been a nice break to the monotony of the castle. And a joke shop was a joke shop. The novelty of the Weasleys' joke shop never quite wore off, especially with new products coming out every year.

"Apparently James is going to go see some tutor in Hogsmeade tomorrow," Scorpius remarked.

Albus and Rose both stared at him for a moment. "Tutor?" the latter repeated. Scorpius shrugged his shoulder. Rose sniffed. "Unbelievable. His marks are a mess already."

"Why do you always assume James is doing something wrong?" Albus asked, unable to completely conceal his annoyance.

"He usually is – that's why. Didn't he almost get expelled twice last year?" Rose asked.

Albus grimaced. "Well, he didn't, did he?" he replied feebly.

Sylvia chuckled. "Maybe you could do with causing a little bit of trouble yourself, Rose," she said. "You shouldn't be so uptight."

"I'd rather not be brought before the Disciplinary Panel, thank you very much," Rose replied.

Albus had asked his father just once. His curiosity had gotten the better of him. His father replied almost as if Albus had asked him about work. He simply said, "That's been taken care of already," and wouldn't elaborate. Albus didn't bother asking James. James had been keeping secrets from him for months already – and Albus had a feeling their father had told James to keep his mouth shut about whatever had happened. Honestly, it was fortunate that James had been sitting right next to them in the Great Hall that day when the fire started. Otherwise, Albus might have thought…

He shook his head. What reason would James have had for doing something like that?

Had they ever found out who or what started the blaze in the first place?

Albus fixed his eyes on Sylvia again, just in time to see a long, white noodle zip into the space between her pursed lips as she slurped her helping of spaghetti childishly, wearing a somewhat bored expression on her face. She looked more tired than usual more often than not nowadays. Greta Stanford drove her team every bit as hard as the last Captain had done, from what Albus heard. Scorpius was, if not unfazed, certainly not exhausted. A year of the grueling Quidditch practices had made him more used to them than Sylvia was.

Albus's mind wandered again. He imagined a blank space where Sylvia was sitting, and imagined how he could have easily been staring at this blank space, imagining her sitting there eating dinner with the rest of them. He didn't understand it. Sylvia didn't understand it herself. No one did. But something miraculous, even by the standards of the magical world in which they lived, had happened that night. Something that kept Sylvia alive and unharmed, and kept the scene playing itself out in Albus's head from really happening…

The four finished their meal before long and made the trek back to Gryffindor Tower. They saw Scorpius off as he checked in with Temple (who gave him a badly-concealed dirty look as he announced 'Slytherin' as his visit House). Rose withdrew to the girls' dormitories, probably to revise her Charms textbook. No sooner than Scorpius had disappeared from sight, Albus felt his arm being tapped. Sylvia, who he thought had disappeared elsewhere, was standing right in front of him.

She contorted her face. "I… wanted to talk to you about something."

So they slipped away to the windowed landing off the common room. To Albus's surprise, no one was here. Apparently older students liked to leave to this area to 'enjoy the castle view'. To be fair, one got a glorious look at the Hogwarts grounds from these windows. Still, Albus wasn't convinced that the upperclassmen spent most of their free time staring at the beautiful sights. He never quite knew what they meant by 'enjoying the castle view'.

In any case, it was a good place, at least today, to have a private conversation.

"You're being weird." Typical Sylvia fashion. Direct and to the point, with a complete lack of subtlety that only a Gryffindor could produce. She had her arms folded and was looking straight at him. "You think I haven't noticed that you won't talk to me?"

Albus didn't like being attacked like this. "O-of course I'll talk to you," he said, feeling wounded. "I mean… I talk to you all the time. What do you mean, I won't talk to you?"

Sylvia grimaced. "I know, but… you know what I mean."

Albus's jaw unhinged a bit as he tried to find words with which to respond. Finally, he answered with a simple, "No. I really don't."

Sylvia frowned. "Well, I notice… sometimes you go somewhere else," she said. "You're there but you're… daydreaming, almost. Sort of just… staring."

She gestured vaguely, apropos to nothing.

"I just think it's curious – that's all," she said. "And I was just wondering…"

"I don't know," Albus immediately said.

"I don't believe you," Sylvia replied, turning her back on him and folding her arms. "If I thought you didn't know, I wouldn't be asking you. That's stupid. I think you know and you're not telling me."

"…Why does it bother you?" asked Albus uncomfortably.

"I'm always wondering if I've got something on my face," Sylvia commented. She had tried to make a joke out of it, but it had fallen flat. "Or maybe you're angry at me for something…"

"Do I look angry?" asked Albus, not believing her argument made any sense.

"_No_, but…" Sylvia trailed off uncertainly. She started to coil strands of her wavy, dark hair around her fingers. "I don't think I'd know if you were. You've always been very… calm. Doesn't seem like anything ever rattles you."

"You almost dying did," Albus blurted out. Sylvia had been looking down at her shoes. She looked up and appeared shocked for a moment. "You didn't think—"

"Think?" Sylvia repeated. "Are you daft? Of course I didn't think. I didn't have _time_ to think. What do you want me to say? 'Sorry about all that, I should have just let the roof collapse in on your head.' Would you have rather gotten killed?"

Albus sat down on the bottom stair. "…I don't like thinking about what it would be like if you weren't here anymore."

"Then don't think about it," Sylvia said.

"It's not that simple. I can't help it."

"Wh—" Sylvia, as usual, seemed to have had a response ready until Albus threw her off. "You're saying… every time you look at me, you're imagining what it would be like if I were dead?"

Albus swallowed hard and nodded.

"That's an awful thing to think about a friend," Sylvia said.

"But it almost happened, didn't it?" asked Albus feebly. "I mean… did _you _think you were going to make it out of there alive?"

Sylvia grimaced. Then she sat down next to him. "Do me a favor? Al?"

Albus looked up at her. "Y-yeah. Sure."

"Don't worry about it," she replied. "Lots of things _could _have happened… none of them happened. So what's wrong?"

Something _was _wrong, Albus thought – but he still couldn't quite put his finger on it, so he said, truthfully, "No idea."

Sylvia released an uncharacteristic giggle and immediately tried to stifle it. When Albus noticed and gave her a look, she responded by biting her lip and looking up at the ceiling.

"We should go back," Albus said.

"We don't have to, do we?" Sylvia replied immediately.

"Somebody will come looking for us," Albus remarked.

"Who – Rose?" asked Sylvia. "She's buried in her books as always. I don't think she noticed I ever left." She punctuated her comment with a short but lively laugh.

"Um… excuse me?" a mousy mewl of a voice murmured.

Albus jumped slightly, whirling around. Sylvia's reaction had been much more dramatic – she let out a clipped squeak, suddenly sounding like a very, very small girl that had been startled out of her wits. Less humorously, she drew her wand.

"Whoa!" exclaimed Albus, lunging for her wand arm to lower it. It did register for a split-second that he could be punched on the nose for his trouble, but Sylvia showed no inclination. In fact, she had frozen for some reason. Ignoring that particular peculiarity for a moment, he turned around to see Iris Conrad, who had also frozen, perched midway on the staircase.

"Sorry… I'm not… interrupting anything, am I?" she asked. Albus was prepared to bet that, if Iris Conrad ever chose to be a troublemaker, she would be the type of troublemaker that could get away with things rather easily. She seemed to have a gift for looking small, unassuming, and innocent. In a lot of ways, she didn't even look like she was twelve years old at all.

"What do you think you'd be interrupting?" asked Sylvia, working her way around Albus. Her wand was no longer up, but her fists were clenched, and her face was noticeably red. Iris shook her head.

"Never mind that," she said. "I was just wondering where you two were…"

She looked down at her feet, tapping the stairs with them.

"I should go," she said hastily as she took off up the stairs again, leaving Albus and Sylvia to exchange glances, completely flummoxed.

"She's become a bit weird, hasn't she?" Sylvia commented.

Albus wisely kept his answer to himself. _She's not the only one…_

**James**

"Ah, Hogsmeade," Richard Murphy mused cheerfully as he strode alongside James in the breezeway that led to the entrance courtyard from which the students would take a short carriage ride to the wizard village. Of course, James had gone to Hogsmeade several times already with his father and other relatives, but he'd never had free rein to explore it as he would as a Hogwarts third year who was now old enough to make the school trips.

"Sure… rub it in, why don't you?" groused Anna, who had followed them all the way here.

"Don't look so glum, Annie," Murphy laughed. "You've only got, what – two more years until you can go yourself?"

"You're such a git," Anna grumbled, punching her brother on the shoulder. They made the turn to the courtyard. Mr. Vincent was standing there, holding a small book that presumably held the names of every Hogwarts student third year and up who had been given permission to attend. "You've got to go to Honeydukes for me. You promised, remember?"

"Sure, fine. We'll go to Honeydukes," Murphy groaned, acting like visiting the best candy shop in town was going to be a terrible chore. He exchanged a quick hug with his sister, and then arrived at James's side just as he came to stand before Greg Vincent, the Hogwarts caretaker, who was peering at them over his book through spectacles a size too small for his own head. James had to resist the urge to laugh at him.

"Names?" Vincent asked.

"Richard Murphy," Murphy said proudly.

"Murphy…" muttered Vincent, looking over his book and turning a page. "Yeah, I've got yeh right here. Go on. You?"

"James Potter," replied James. He hadn't seen very much of Vincent, but there was no mistaking Vincent's somewhat surprised expression. The cogs in the brain of every adult that had met him worked almost the exact same way, and James could not match the thoughts with the expression. First – surprise: _James Potter? _Then, recognition: _As in, Harry Potter's boy?_ Then, skepticism and confusion: _No, couldn't be, doesn't look much like him…_

"Something wrong, Greg?" a man's voice broke the awkward silence. James didn't see him initially because of Vincent's girth, but Neville had appeared off the latter's shoulder. Vincent turned to Neville silently. Neville chuckled. "Yes, that's Harry Potter's son, James. He looks a bit more like his mother in the face. Don't let it throw you off."

"I suppose so…" Vincent said a bit dimly, stepping aside to allow the boys through. For some strange reason, James always got the feeling that Vincent was very good at following orders and not so much at thinking for himself. Meanwhile, Neville had given James a nod and smile, and walked back toward the courtyard exit.

A sharp breeze prompted Murphy to shiver. "Bollocks, it's cold for October," he groaned, pulling his heavy robes over him.

James felt now was as good a time to break the news to Murphy as any.

"I'm not gonna be able to tag along with you around town today, mate," James said. "I'm meeting Lefty in the Hog's Head."

Murphy's nose wrinkled. He glanced at the Defence text tucked under James's arm, which no one thought unusual because he tended to carry it around with him everyone. "The Hog's Head? Do they even let blokes our age into the Hog's Head?"

"They will if I'm with him, at least," James reasoned. "Hardly anyone goes there anyway. It's much better than the 'Sticks if you want a bit of peace and quiet – especially with all the students in town."

"You think you'll be able to get away before the evening's over?" Murphy asked, looking a bit deflated.

"Maybe… I've never sat in with him in person," James said. "I suppose we've got to feel each other out first…"

Murphy sniggered. "So you and your idol, Lefty Dawlish, are going to a deserted pub to 'feel each other out'?"

James scowled. "Well, of course it's going to sound dodgy if you say it like that…"

"Your words, mate," quipped Murphy. Then, his face fell. "Still, though… the hell am I gonna do with meself 'till you get back?"

"You're not going to the shop?" asked James.

"Shop?" repeated Murphy.

"Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes – run by James's uncles, Ron and George Weasley," a girl's voice sounded very suddenly as its blonde owner appeared right next to Murphy. Evidently, she'd been leaning against a pillar, waiting for them to show up. "I've gotta say, you look a bit… dull without your bubbly budgie of a friend fluttering around."

"Hello, Serra." James wasn't yet sure what to make of Serra Paxton – thus he wasn't sure whether to be happy or annoyed to see her.

"What's she doing to keep herself occupied?" asked Serra.

"God only knows," Murphy said. "What are you doing here? Got some new, juicy gossip for us?"

"No, unfortunately," Serra said, sounding genuinely disappointed, "It's just that you two make much better company than the rest of my housemates. Half of them didn't even show up. 'I've got to study for one thing or another.' 'It's too cold…'" James sniggered at Serra's melodramatic impressions of her roommates' whinging.

"They _may_ have a point on that last one," Murphy remarked, shivering again.

"Not if you're prepared for it," Serra said, and James noted she was wearing a hat and scarf. "You just need reliable weather reports."

"And where do you expect to find those?" asked Murphy.

"Professor Sinistra, of course," Serra said, as if everybody should have known this already. "…Oh, come on, she looks at stars a couple of hours each night. What do you think she does the rest of the day?"

James hadn't ever thought about this before.

"But… how…?"

Serra threw up her hands. "Not even _I_ can get an answer for that. All I know is she's usually right."

The three took the same carriage on the way to Hogsmeade. Serra revealed that both her parents were freelance journalists, but her mother had once worked for the _Daily Prophet_. James wondered whether her parents had ever met his mum, who did regular work for the _Prophet_. In any case, it certainly explained Serra's gift and passion – or perhaps one would call it an obsession – for gathering information that other people didn't know. Serra asked about Murphy's sister, and laughed as he again recounted the story of the 'Christmas tree incident'.

"Speaking of sisters," said Serra, punctuating it with a slight giggle as her amusement about Anna's story hadn't yet worn off, "How's Lily doing?"

James blinked dimly. He never remembered telling Serra about Lily. Then again, he supposed, his parents were still celebrities. It would be quite difficult for anyone – let alone someone with their visibility – to hide the existence, name, and face of one of their children for nearly a decade.

"She turns eleven soon," James said. "She'll be coming to Hogwarts next year."

"Oh, really?" Serra asked, sounding genuinely surprised. "I've caught glimpses of her once or twice at King's Cross with your mum and brother. I always thought she was quite a bit younger than you, she was so small… "

That was a running theme every time someone saw the Potter children. Lily was always cute and looked younger than her age. Albus was always the spitting image of Dad, and James was always the one that never quite looked like he belonged.

"What house do you think she'll be in?" asked Serra.

"I'm not sure, really," said James. "Both my parents were in Gryffindor, so are Al and I, and Mum says Lily's a lot like she was when she was that age. So Gryffindor, if I had to guess. But then, the Hat nearly put Albus in Slytherin last year, and a bunch of our family has been Sorted into Ravenclaw now, so I don't know."

"Like Louis Weasley?" Serra asked. It was a question, but it was one to which she already knew the answer. "I've met him. Everybody in Ravenclaw has."

"He's very outgoing," James said. "I'm almost surprised the Hat put him in Ravenclaw."

"Yeah… extroversion's usually more of a Hufflepuff or Gryffindor trait," commented Serra. The word threw James off a bit.

"Extra… what?" Murphy repeated a bit dimly.

"Extroversion. He's outgoing – good with people, makes friends easily," Serra explained.

"Oh," Murphy uttered. Then, obviously trying to save face a bit, he added, "Well, of course I knew that. I was just trying to see if you knew what you were talking about."

Serra smirked. She obviously saw right through Murphy's ill-disguised false bravado.

"I wonder how long the House system will last?" she asked no one in particular.

"Hold on… what?" Murphy uttered as the full impact of what Serra was saying hit him. James meanwhile, squinted against the flashes of sun that were filtering through the trees on the edge of the Forbidden Forest.

"The system's flawed, isn't it?" asked Serra with a shrug. "I mean, it must have been a good idea at the time, with four Founders as the only teachers. But… well, people can't be separated so cleanly into one of four categories. If someone's brave, does that stop them from being cunning – or clever?"

James thought. He knew quite a few people that could have been in two different Houses or more. Like Serra said, Louis didn't quite fit the mold of the shy, bookish Ravenclaw. (Rose, on the other hand, did.) Then again, neither did Serra. That might have been why she found it more fun to talk to James and Murphy – two Gryffindors.

"You think they'd just get rid of the whole House system?" Murphy asked.

"Flitwick would never go for it," said James. "Ne-Professor Longbottom told me so last year. He understands that the Houses shouldn't get in the way of us cooperating – but he'd never get rid of the Houses themselves. Even if he could… could he? I mean, you're talking about traditions and magic that have been around for a thousand years."

"Personally, I don't care," said Serra, turning her back and leaning over the edge of the carriage, looking out toward the path ahead. "Just as long as we get to keep our tower. I rather like the view there."

Behind Serra's back, Murphy cast a bemused glance.

_Why do we always get the strange ones?_

James grimaced in resignation and gave a short shrug of his shoulders.


End file.
